This Weekend (9) ...

... was a long one! (Oh, err, missus!)

Of course, because this is England, it was grey and drizzly and not as warm as it could be, but that doesn't mean that it wasn't marvellous. I mean. A long weekend IS a long weekend. And here's what happened.

1) I was on time for the pub quiz! On time! That's note worthy in itself, but I suspect that anyone not used to my poor time keeping won't be wowed by that. The thing is that not only was I on time, but I was also useful. I was not a spare wheel who played the role of "nodding dog" at the end of the table whilst other people supplied the right answers, as I am most weeks, but I was a useful, question answering, information supplying team member. As such I can confirm that Mr Tickle is orange, post boxes in Spain are yellow, and that the punchline to the Joke Of The Week is "The stakes are too high!" (Chuckle chuckle).

2) The Lovely Gillian couldn't make the quiz (which is not good news, obviously) because she and her husband, The Equally Lovely Garry are fostering a weeny baby girl (which is good news). A baby (a proper weeny crinkly squeaky baby, I mean. Not one of these part-baked small people, but a small, one-week-old baby) must, if you are a foster carer, be the gold at the end of the rainbow, and I am just thrilled for them. I've not yet had the chance to go around for a cuddle (the baby and Gillian), but when I go, I'll obviously be smitten (with the baby and Gillian).

3) Whilst normally, on Friday, I set the alarm for a decent time and hop (fall) out of bed bright and early (slowly and resentfully) this week I decided that I needed a snooze, so I allowed myself the luxury of a lie in. I was woken by a text message from Amelia, wondering if I fancied Doing Lunch. well if that isn't the whole point of not working on a Friday, I don't know what is! So I hot footed to Sainsbury's and bought a multitude of fabulous nice things, and we decided to just graze on cheese, bread and tomatoes in the garden, with copious amounts of coke. And. We. Were. Happy!

4) There were a few things that I tried to do on Friday afternoon, but none really came off, so, tapping in on a bit of found time, I cleared out my bedroom, pulling everything out of all my cupboards and drawers, throwing away holey socks and grey pants, and putting chunky jumpers away for the summer. My room is now as ordered as it can be, given that I don't actually have any bedroom furniture still, and I know where everything is. A miracle!!

5) Saturday was the greyest of grey days. I am going on a swanky day out in a couple of weeks time (more to follow) for which I need a new frock, so I decided I'd hit Kingston and shop, shop, shop. By the time I got off from the bus stop to the town centre, the rain had socked up my jeans to the knees, and down my hair, sticking it to my forehead. Hard, under the circumstances, to think "GLAMOUR." I tried on a heap of things, but struggled to see myself promenading, champagne in hand, in any of them, so in the end bought some pick and mix and a lottery ticket and came home. Oh well. Maybe next time.

6) Amelia's smallest, the fabulous G, made a request for a sleepover at my house some time ago, and arrangement which would offer him and me a bit of playing time, and his mother a bit of quality time with her fella, Curtis. I collected him and we came home to watch DVDs and eat biscuits. (Coraline was ok, but Planet 51 was ace). In the kitchen, whilst cooking his tea, G let out a small fart, and looked at me in a challenging way. "Aren't you going to say "excuse me"?" "Curtis never does."

7) Eurovision. The annual battle of wills. I say I won't watch it ever year. It's truly dreadful. But then I click on, just for a minute, and end up watching to the end. Poor old England. Poor old us. Last position. Again. Poor old us.

8) Sunday lunchtime on a bank holiday weekend is, surely, the most luxurious time in the world. I met with some friends for lunch at a pub in Wimbledon to watch the football, have a drink and enjoy a long lunch. One thing lead to another. And I got home at 11pm. Pah well. It's a long weekend. What's a girl to do?

9) So I had a slow start to today. A nice big stodgy breakfast and a long chat with my mother on the blower. And then a nice walk to The Rookery, a secret (not very secret) garden at the top of Streatham Common with a friend, before retiring to the pub and setting the world to rights. I'm sure that Bank Holidays are meant to be about more wholesome pursuits than quenching a hangover with Merlot, but it works for me.

10) And now, as I type this, I watch Glee. I know it's trashy, and teeny, and all, but it's becoming my dirty little secret. Why was there no Glee club when I was at school? Bugger that! Why isn't there a Glee club in Tooting now?! Perhaps it can be my new project.

This Weekend (7) ...

I feel a little like I've just bowled from one "This Weekend" to another this week, such has been the franticness (franticity? Francosity?) of the week. Still, here we are again ...

1) A rare thing. A Thursday night with no quiz. Calamity!! But it means that I can accept a request from the lovely Amelia to babysit for her little boy for a couple of hours. I collect him from a mutual friend's house, where he and her husband are perched on the sofa, wrapped in a game of Super Mario. Unable to distract either of them, I settle in the armchair to wait, and realise after a while that I'm equally absorbed. "Try spin jumping on that box," I suggest, and realise that I've become one of them!

2) Having wrestled Small Boy away from the Wii controls, and home, I successfully cajole him into his pyjamas and then into bed. When his mother gets home, we are snuggled in bed together whilst he reads me a story about talking crocodiles. I'm not sure who's more surprised by the scene of calm - her or me!

3) After a good gossip with Amelia (we specialise, when together, at setting the world to rights in record time), I run home to meet gorgeous Gillian to talk over a new crafting project that she's got in mind for us. A quick yak-yak-yak, and we settle to the job in hand, and quickly agree a rough format, some early promotional activities, and points of action. (Nothing more on this for now, but watch this space!) How lovely to work on a project with someone of the same no-nonsense attitude as me!

4) Last week was a fairly busy one, and made more tiring by having started the week on a terrible Sunday night's sleep. Normally Friday mornings have a strict getting-up time, but this weekend I treat myself to a lie in. What luxury to wake up after normal work start time, and be able to dig down under the duvet for an extra mini-doze. When I finally haul myself out of bed I feel fully rested for the first time in a week. Bliss!

5) After a quick breakfast with a friend and her husband, we discover that we all need a trip to the local DIY and garden centre, so I offer them a lift. My car, a Figaro, is technically a four seater, but the back seat is really little more than a shelf. The trip there is cosy. The trip home however is nothing short of farcical - three tall people, three sacks of compost, one large potted begonia, five empty plant pots, one pair of long-handled tree loppers, and assorted other goodies all get stacked, in strict order, in my tiny car, to the huge amusement of others in the car park.

6) As soon as I'm home, I pull on my mucky old jeans and a floppy t-shirt, and hit the garden. With the radio on, the time flies, and weeding seems like no kind of chore before the more interesting digging, potting, planting starts. I now have four tomato plants, two pepper, five beans and four strawberries in pots and beds, ready to be coaxed into baring fruit. Plans for fruit trees and raspberry canes next year abound! Has anyone ever been truly self sufficient from a terrace house garden, I wonder? Would a couple of chickens be a bridge too far?

7) Early Saturday morning I head south for a weekend with fab friends in Arundel. Last week was my dearest friend's birthday, so a trip has long been on the cards. It's a familiar journey on a route that the car can almost do for itself, and it strikes me on the way that going to visit them is almost as much like coming home as going to my own family's home.

8) The planned birthday celebration is a trip to the Drive In. Yes ... you read correctly. Plumpton Racecourse, for one night only, is turned into the All American drive in, with a showing of Grease being the main attraction. Five girls pack into the car to watch a film that we've seen 100 times before, and we chat amiably as we watch. Once in a while someone sings a few bars, or comments on fashions, or the fact that a school of 17 year olds all look around our age. After a time, H. observes, "this is definitely the most random thing I've ever done." All parties agree.

9) For the first time in all my trips to West Sussex, this morning we head for Arundel Castle. My friend's husband explains, "these days, the family only live in that wing," indicating a building which my whole house would comfortably fit inside about thirty times over. "They had to scale down," he says, with no hint of humour. We speculate on whether we could cope with a life living in a castle ourselves, and whether we can recreate the image of the dining hall in our own dining rooms. The idea of this building having been a home for nearly 1000 years is wonderfully overwhelming.

10) The first open meeting for this year's Wandsworth Artist's Open House took place this evening, largely to drum up support and participants, but also to gauge feeling about more promotion of local events this year. Three new attendees got the buzz going - how lovely to have found new people in our wee community to take part in such a lovely event (and selfishly, how lovely to have found three new potential friends!) and enthusiasm for this year's even abounds. I've found myself wondering this evening how to tone down the enthusiasm for a couple of weeks yet (the event isn't until October) but also that having too many ideas is a fairly lovely problem to have!

Feeling Creative?

My word, but you look like a creative bunch!

Fancy tapping that creativity? Then sign up for the lovely Amelia's new Experimental Art e-course.

Amelia is a neighbour of mine, a fellow local creative type, and also a pretty splendid friend. She also writes a fabulous blog called 101 Bird Tales about all sorts of things, but mostly about following your heart and doing what makes you happiest. If you're seeking a spot of inspiration, I can recommend it most wholeheartedly.

Anyway, she's launching an e-course on a theme of Experimental Art, which you can sign up for one her website here. It's a six week course which aims to encourage you to try your hand at a range of artistic techniques from the comfort of your own home. So if you are someone who's always meant to do something creative, but never got around to it, or someone who wants to try some new creative styles, or just fancies trying their hand, then this is, surely, perfect for you! Go and have a read. She explains it much better than I do.

Whilst you are there, check out the rest of her website. She's a talented lady. She did the lovely embroidery below for me, which I love.

Ah, go on! What are you waiting for! Who knows what lovely think you might create!

Happy creating!

xxx

PS - I feel duty bound to assure you that I am not earning any kind of commission for this promotion, but I am hoping that I might get invited to the Critchlow residence for a cup of tea and a jaffa cake some time soon.

This Weekend ...

1) ... started early. Even earlier than usual, considering that I don't work on Fridays anyway. I had to work from home on Thursday morning to wait for my boiler repair man to come. Having been given a time slot for his arrival of 9am to 1pm, inevitably he arrived at 4pm. Thank heavens I brought loads of work home to do! Anyway, the good, if slightly embarrassing, news is that, before I'd finished making him a cup of tea, he'd fixed it, and we're now piping hot again. Phew!

2) ... I had my hair cut. My friend Amelia (of 101 Birdtales fame) was there at the same time, and our hairdresser, Crazy Martin, turned the chairs so we were facing one another, instead of the mirrors, so that we could chat. We set the world to rights, and had a lovely hand massage (well ... four of them between us) whilst we gossiped and plotted our next artistic venture. And consequently the first I glimpsed of my new Do was when I was all done! I am now asymmetric, dontcha know.

3) ... I went to see Avatar. I will acknowledge that it's very clever, but personally, I didn't enjoy it. I can't help but feel that, were it not for the 3D element, the thing would have been panned for it's simpering, moralistic clap-trap. But that's just my opinion. I did get some pleasure, however, from looking around at all the people in their 3D glasses.

4) ... I went for dinner at a friends house. She and her new husband had three of us over, plus the lovely baby Amie, with whom I got to have a cuddle and play. It was a lovely evening of fine dining ("yes" agreed Mark. "It was ... fine.") although when I made a joke about women with facial hair (which would have been hilarious in other company) it fell flat and I felt like a proper turkey.

5) ... I had house guests. I shall call them Kelly and Nathan, for those are their names. We spent the weekend bowling from one opportunity to eat to the next, since that is all of our most favourite hobby. When they arrived we had tea and cake, then went out for lunch and to stretch our legs, then back for more tea and cake before we went out for dinner. This morning, after breakfast, we walked to the pub for lunch.

6) ... we spent some time entertaining ourselves by thinking of song titles which would be made better by the insertion of the word "fart" into the title. Favourites included, "Absence Makes the Fart Grow Stronger," "Everybody's Got A Hungry Fart," and "Unbreak My Fart." I know it's juvenile, but we enjoyed it. Today we also speculated about the fact that, at any age, someone farting in the toilet cubicle next to you is funny.

7) ... I've burped a lot. I don't know why. It's most out of character, but at times it's sounded like there's a toad in the room.

8) ... I've finished reading New Moon by Stephanie Meyer. I'm well aware, thank you very much that it's a book about vampires, written for teenagers, but I rather enjoyed it. I think that I might be a little in love with Edward Cullen (NB - the fictional character and not that young whipper-snapper who plays him in the films). I like that he is, at once, far too old for me (109), and far too young (17).

9) ... I seriously over-catered. I do that. I have no ability to think "well, I'd eat this much, so three people would eat three times as much." Then we ate out a lot anyway, so it's all still here. I've just snacked on some toast and pate and cheese and olives and tomatoes for my tea. Grazing food is my favourite.

10) ... I have learned that I am destined to marry a thief. A couple of weekends ago I taught my Goddaughter to count her olive / cherry stones out to see who she'll marry - tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, or thief. It prompted debate about whether it's better to have a poor man or a beggar man, and exactly what a tinker does. Today my olive pits told me I'd marry a thief. Bugger it!

I Should Have Been A Stripper

Well THAT got your attention!

Folks, today you find me in a very warm and fuzzy mood, for I have been given ... an award! Yes, me! L'il ol' me. Who'd have thought it?

The too gorgeous for words Baglady has given me the "I Shoulda Been A Stripper" Award. Frankly, you can keep your Bafta, your Oscar, and your Emmy. This is where it's at!

So, there's rules to this 'ere award.

a) Post the award.

Done. Here it is. Look!

b) List seven personality traits, as evidenced on your blog.

1) A stickler. I can't bear bad grammar. It bugs me.

2) Mild paranoia. I live in the knowledge that, for all I am a stickler, you read this, circling my grammatical errors. I know they're out there. I can hear them laughing at me ...

3) Independence. Probably to a fault. I'm kind of used to doing my own thing, so I just do. But that sometimes means that, when I have to incorporate someone else into what I'm doing, I fail.

4) Creative. I'm a bit artsy. I make stuff and decorate stuff and then I pack it in pretty paper. I do love to make things that have no function but to look good. I'm currently making a bunch of beaded carrots. Well ... why not?!

5) Sweet tooth. If it's dipped in chocolate, I like it. If it's got a sugary shell, it's mine. I'll wrestle a child to the floor for a jelly sweet. I am, and will ever be, grateful that I'm not diabetic.

6) Nosey. I love to people watch. There are places in the world where I could happily sit for hours and just stare. If someone next to me has a book or a newspaper or a magazine, I have to read it over their shoulder. If someone is sending a text, I read that too. I am filled with glee when I walk past a house which has lights on and curtains open. I am too beaky by half!

7) Smutty. I am a firm believer in bum jokes being the funniest. There is nothing like a good drop of innuendo, or a double entendre. I do like to be able to waggle my eyebrows whilst saying "ooh err missus" (or similar). And who doesn't think that a bit of a cheeky fart is hilarious? *chortle chortle*

c) Give the award to seven others of notable personality and let them know.

Well this is tricky. Like Baglady, I'm aware that some people won't do it. She has also, curse her, sent it to two of the people I would have sent it to myself. Rats! So I'm cheating on this front, and sending it only to five.

The fabulous Amelia at 101 Bird Tales

The gorgeous Gillian at Fabric Nation

The very sophisticated Millennium Housewife

The currently glowing Molly at Oh For The Love Of Blog

And last, but by no means least, a blog I am quite new to, but am very much enjoying, the domestic goddess, Becky, at Teacups, Cupcakes

So there we have it! My very first (possibly my last) prize. Thanks Baglady, you lovely lady, you. I'm more chuffed (chufter?) than I can say.

Blind Faith

"She asked me what my five year plan was, and I said 'I don't know.'" Amelia came over for a dirty curry and to set the world to rights on Friday night, and relayed a conversation she'd had with a particularly successful artist friend. She looked slightly wide eyed when she said it.

And with that, I realised that I've never had a plan.

Certainly I plan on a small scale. "Today I MUST push the hoover 'round", or "tomorrow I'm meeting Cat for breakfast", or "next weekend Kelly and Nathan are coming to stay". Even as far away as "my parents are coming for Christmas" (which, I suspect, will be another post, another time).

But the real stuff? The big things? Nothing.

I did a pretty vocational degree. We were all, apart from an astute few, who noticed what what was happening to them, going to be fed out of the education system and into the non-glamorous world of property, conveyor belt style. I went to a series of interviews and had an offer of a job which was conditional on a certain result in my finals. Which I got. So I went there. Not so much a plan, as a solution.

My next job was secured in a bar during the December Christmas Party Rush. The one after that I was head-hunted for, just at a time when I was feeling a smidge disillusioned. And now this job move - the result of a chance conversation at an opportune time. All of my career moves have been based on good luck rather than good management.

As for accommodation, I lived in a house share which was, in retrospect comedically dreadful (again ... for another time, I think) and which came to a mercifully swift end. I had two weeks to find somewhere to live. I walked past an estate agent's window as he was putting a new ad in the window, asked him if I could look at it, took it, and moved in within the week. I lived there for four years. Then one day an email about a flat to rent nearby was accidentally sent to me, so I moved there.

Buying my current home wasn't even something that I entirely planned to do. There was an incident relating to a drunk and slightly pervy landlord outside my front door in the wee-small hours, looking for a bed for the night. It was a one bed flat. I started looking for somewhere to buy the next day.

Even Loulou Workshop wasn't so much planned, as fallen upon. After a particularly miserable couple of weeks (work trouble, boy trouble, ill health, wallowing, self pity, woe, woe ...) a friend suggested that I could work part time and try to bring a little balance to my life. That was on the Sunday. On the Monday I spoke to my boss and asked if I could stop working on Fridays.

Friends can tell you about boyfriends that I've accidentally dumped. I once went for a drink at Kings Cross, and ended up in Lille. Just this weekend I went into the hairdressers for a trim and came out with a whole new look.

So no. I don't have a five year plan. I don't even have a one year plan. To quote a popular American sitcom, I don't even have a "pl". I have got this far though my life reasonably successfully, without ever having any purpose or direction. I bowl from one project to the next. From one opportunity to the next. From one chance happening to the next.

I just can't decide if that's beautifully impulsive, or dangerously reckless.

Three Beautiful Things

Tonight, inspired by the lovely Clare I bring you Three Beautiful Things ...

1) I have been delivering prizes to people who entered the competition which we ran as part of the Open House event. One lady won a print that she had been coveting, and another won a necklace with a pearl pendant which she said was her birth stone. It was lovely to deliver such personal presents to people.

2) I'm plotting lunch on Friday with new friend, and fabulously talented artist, Amelia Critchlow. We will set the world to rights, graze on delicious food, and discuss a private commission ...

3) Ham, egg and chips for my tea. 'Licious!