Angel Jem's City Cottage

Jo (Through the Keyhole) knows me so well. I bet most of you did as well. The shelves did not linger in a garage waiting for me to feel inspired, they were done, dusted and in place in time for Downton Abbey last night (no spoilers!) And like an amazing Welsh Dragon, it stands in my dining room, ready to be populated with my best bits of fripperies. Love it, absolutely love it. Eye candy warning; there are some pictures coming up! So it will sit here and wait until the shops and garden centres stock up their fairiest of fairy lights, when I will get me some white corded lights (as many and as long as possible) to string up, Nigella-style, and indulge my inner whimsy with decorating the shelves with many happy memories and cards, postcards, mugs, jars and other detritus of a life lived happily.

I had to take a parcel to the Post Office. I parked at the block of shops and walked along, past the chip shop and the small convenience store and past the Hospice shop (they raise money for sick children) and in the window I saw a cute little dog, one I love and have a few of, but always look out for; A Radley Bag? In the Claire House shop? A Radley Bag??? How much? It's a good sized one, not massive, but middle-ish. Brown. It's probably called Tan or Rust or... HOW MUCH??? £20?? Is that all?? Do I need a bag (well, no, but does any woman need a bag who has a plastic carrier?) Do I want a bag? (well, duh, I'm female ) I have a few things this would go with; new brown boots, my green coat, my green tops, my chocolate coloured trousers. Yes, I could style myself up well. If I had a brown Radley bag. A brown  bag. All these thought processes took a couple of seconds. I was in, with the bag off the window shelf where it had been placed and on my shoulder. I teste...

After our day out on Saturday which I blogged about here , it seemed like a good idea to visit another old mine. St Helens used to be a coal mining area, perhaps not as big or famous as Yorkshire or the North East, but it had several pits that used to power the glass making industry that St Helens was more famous for.  Of course, the pits have gone, closed in the late 80's, early 90's as being no longer financially viable, but I remember the shapes and outlines of the mine workings that stood above the horizon. So much space has to be reused, and in Sutton Manor the Council decided to make a wild park. There are paths that meander, areas of grassland, stands of trees and everywhere a reminder of the past.  I loved the poetry carved on the stones shaped like... flames? I think. And the ironwork benches have backs that picture elements of the coal mining industry.  But the most dominating feature of the park is this.....  This artwork is called D...

Under the red is a shade of deep green... imagine the clash. I only had a very knackered old bean bag and a floor cushion with a leak in green. Green. In my living room? No way. I covered it with a red throw, secured temporarily with safety pins and 5 years later still looked at the pins, wondering if I could pass them off as a post-ironic homage to punk. No, it was sheer laziness and the thought of handsewing the seams. The Johnny Rotten approach The cushions did not impress, did not inspire usage and had to be hidden away when company came, negating any possible use as additional seating. Enough! my brain screamed (my brain got quite loud and assertive this year) and I set to work. This is the inside. Green again. 1 metre of furnishing fabric (this was from Dunhelm Mill at approx £25 per metre) 1 metre of interlining fabric. (this was from my mother; costs nothing) Stuffing (this was from the cushion and beanbag combined; again a free item) The beans went in OK...

OK, admit it, who hasn't lusted after one of these? Or these? But £30 for a basket, even a lined one, is too much. I love the style of Cath Kidston but I hate the prices so I try and adapt as much as possible. I went thrifting on Friday and found this in the local Barnardo's. It was 3.99 and in top condition, but the lining was light and cream, not my style at all. But that never puts one off, does it? It came home with me, of course, and I set off making it a basket fit for a really well planned holiday in Paris (shortly to be experienced) The lining material is Michael Miller's Eiffel Tower in red. I couldn't resist it.  The old lining became the pattern, cutting and sewing was a cinch and the hardest part was sewing the lining to the basket. I was afraid I'd need a thimble but my long needle worked well enough without. I had 90 minutes and it took me 100. By the time I had picked up the kids I just whipped the last part of the lining to the ...

A new organised me? I don't think so. As anyone who has ever taken part in a swap with me knows, I do not make deadlines. I don't altogether know what day it is most times. And I can't tell you what the kids are up to today, let alone tomorrow or next week. But I love organising things; filofax, notebooks, diaries. Part of my problem is the quest for the perfect organising tool. It doesn't exist, I know that, but I still seek the best diary, calender, folder or filing system. Perhaps, like the Holy Grail, it can only be claimed by somebody truly pure in heart. Oh, well, counts me out. I only want to get organised to make more time for myself. Actually, if I don't bother getting organised and just don't care, I'll have loads of time. Might try that approach this year. But until I really can't be bothered, I'll keep searching. My current organiser is a pocket filofax. I had a pretty poppy covered one, but it got damaged and the ringbinde...

DH has taken a day off work today and we went out. Chester is a lovely old city near to us. It has half-timbered shops and roman ruins. It has lovely shops, a park that has clean benches and a definite feel of respectable gentility about it. I'd love to show you a load of photos but I didn't take any. Just google Chester, UK and you get the picture. And it has a pasty shop. I love pasties. My childhood is full of memories of eating cornish pasties at the side of tourist attractions in Devon and Cornwall and drinking milk straight from the bottle with my brothers. I think my Mum even has photos of us sat in a row, with bottles and half-dead pasties really clearly visible. I love pasties as a food memory, and today as I counted up the points (about 8 to 10) and ate on regardless (no points on chocolate today) it occurred to me that I have never tried to recreate a pasty in my own kitchen. They are, like a lot of things, something which every self-respecting wife could make at one...

We visited Beamish in June, and what struck me once again was how much we have to learn off the olden days that we have actually forgotten. All those green things; recycling, make do and mend, make your own, grow your own that are circulating back into fashion after such a long period of excessive consumption were as natural as breathing to the people in turn of the century vilages all over the country. Why did we forget that after every boom comes an inevitable bust? I loved the obviously homemade pan holders... the newspaper shelf liners..... the homemade bread (smelled gorgeous!).... and the evidence everywhere of green values. Waste not, want not. I could write for ages of the things I saw and felt about Beamish. But most off all I could write of the effect it has had on me since. No shopping, no new clothes (except for a pair of trousers and a silky nightie... both necessary) and more homemade food than ever. Frugal, frugal, frugal.

In another one of my alter egos I occasionally write articles for my parish magazine. I go to St Peter's Church Woolton. It's a nice middle class church in a nice middle class suburb of Liverpool. Its biggest claim to fame is that the church hall is where John Lennon and Paul McCartney met for the first time . There's a plaque and all sorts of tourists, mostly Japanese and American, come by to go Wow! Also, Eleanor Rigby is buried in the church yard. Apparently John Lennon had lots of time to hang around in church yards. Who knew? Any way, at 2 this morning inspiration struck. It's always 2am, never 2pm. Still small voice, I expect, the one I can't hear during the day for the TV, the kids, the husband asking for his tea.... Anyway, I am proud of this article and so, though I hate to inflict a much longer post than usual on you I wanted to give you the sneek preview. I've sent this off for the November issue of the Mag', so you really are reading it a month a...