Just off the motorway

When we were first married, we had a small paperback with this title.  Inside, there were listings of what was to be found at each motorway junction, including local pubs, petrol stations and general alternatives to the service stations.  On our way up to Wharfedale last week, we stopped somewhere far more interesting.

The Yorkshire Sculpture Park is on a stretch of the M1 which we don’t normally use.  By that time, we’ve normally turned off towards Hull or taken the M18 towards the A1.  Still, here we were on a fine Spring lunchtime, feeling peckish and in need of some fresh air.  What better place?

We’d put our boots in the boot of the car, just in case.  Good job, too, because it was a bit muddy in places and the notices by the gate, advising of the need for sturdy footwear were apt.  The visitor centre had been designed with muddy boots in mind too and I was particularly impressed by this clever pathway to the entrance acknowledging park supporters at the same time as allowing the debris from hundreds of walking boots to fall through.

Off we set, then, over the fields and through the sheep, saying good morning to Old Flo as we went, muttering about the peace of the countryside being shattered by a particularly noisy bunch behind us.

I liked the natural sculptures almost as much as the crafted ones!

Passing Bretton Hall there on the hill, I recalled the last time I was here: at the 1977 Summer Ball, with Gill, my friend (and bridesmaid!) from college days who was a student here. As we walked by, we giggled about the story of when the two of us were dancing with two blokes (oh yes, they were definitely blokes),

“What’s your name?”

“Gill”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Gill”

“Are you sisters?”

“Yes, our Mum liked the name”.

Down there by the water was a small tree with what is surely, someone’s special place. 

A bit further along was another special place which aroused my curiosity.  Who knows?

We were in this particular corner in search of some of Anthony Gormley’s work and struggled to find it until one of us thought to look up!

Funny how, in spite of all the large works of art around here, it’s the small ones which catch my eye.  You spotted that one on the fence, didn’t you?

Another small mystery.

Did I say “large” pieces of art?  The temporary exhibit here right now is a collection of KAWS work.

It was attracting a great deal of interest, though personally, I didn’t get it.  I need to read more about the artist and his work, perhaps.

Aware that we still had a bit of a way to drive, we made our way back via the camellia house – breathtaking!

I couldn’t resist jumping up and down on the planks whilst I was there.

Goodbye, Old Flo.

I wonder how much longer you’ll sit here and take in the view of Barnsley?

Making an entrance

I don’t think I’m unusual in preferring to arrive without undue ceremony?  It’s not that I would choose to sidle in, to be sneaky in any way but just that any kind of fanfare or fuss makes me feel very awkward indeed.

The memory of one of my most embarrassing moments still makes me cringe when I think of it.  As the twenty-something daughter of a member of a company golf team, newly married to a bright young manager in that same company, I was invited for post-tournament drinks one afternoon.  I arrived at the clubhouse and made my entry through the patio doors, but as I did, my heel slipped on the polished wood floor and I fell flat on my face.  The whole bar fell silent and all heads turned in my direction.  Thankfully, a rather sweet board member recognised me, came over and helped me to my feet with the words “Hello Gill, how lovely to see you.  Can I get you a gin and tonic?” and never referred to it again!

We spent a night in Burnsall last week, at our favourite Devonshire Fell hotel where a member of staff said “Oh, you’re the lady who screamed!”.  I’m sorry to say, I had to admit it that yes, I was.

As Sophia would say, “picture it”…

As we arrived, the heavens opened and my hero ran up those steps to the entrance, carrying our bags.  As he did, I opened my umbrella and followed him.  There, between two of those clipped box trees was some kind of hawk, dealing with the pigeon it had snagged immediately before our arrival.  My hero, understanding my little foibles, drew my attention to it and advised I steer well clear…except in doing do, he inadvertently scared the hawk off.

The pigeon fluttered a bit, gathered all its strength and managed to get airborne and fluttered a bit more.  By this time, my hero was sheltering inside the porch there at the top of the steps and I was a few steps behind him.  However, the injured pigeon also decided to head for shelter and taking the most direct route under my umbrella, flew into the porch as well.

I’m sorry.  I screamed.  Those who know me well know my fear of birds and know that I will cross a road rather than walk past a pigeon on the same side of the street.  So, it will come as no surprise that I stood, cowering and shaking like a leaf out in the rain until that pigeon had been captured and taken outside.  The country folks who were in the hotel reception that afternoon were probably wondering what all the fuss was about, but I was glad that a couple of them had no qualms about picking the bird up and taking it to safety.  For how long, I don’t know, because the hawk had continued to circle high above us the whole time and would surely swoop down as soon as it spotted its prey again. 

Thankfully, the Devonshire Fell was the same, familiar comfortable haven of peace and quiet we know and love.

We especially appreciate the bright, unstuffy atmosphere there; the warm welcome and the wonderful cooking.  Since our last visit, the colour palette has been toned down a little and the fuchsia pinks and lime greens are not quite so prominent, but the walls are still full of lively and interesting artwork and that conventional exterior hides a very stylish and contemporary inside.

Thankfully, there were no more feathered encounters during our stay.

But please…

If you are sitting in a theatre, a concert hall or similar and you are rather pleased with your long blonde hair,  please think of those sitting immediately behind you and refrain from throwing your head back and running your fingers through it at regular intervals.  Actually, you could try to sit still during the concert too.  I excused what I thought was a young woman sitting in front of me until she turned around and revealed herself to be well beyond middle aged. 

Should know better.

Oh, and whilst we’re at it,  as we sat enjoying Guys and Dolls in the Savoy Theatre the other night, the woman next to me brought out a Tesco bag and proceeded to eat her supper with a knife and fork, balancing a variety of containers on her knee.  What?  Might she have starved to death if she’d waited a couple of hours to sit at a table and eat in a more appropriate place?  Did she think that those around her were enjoying the aroma of her garlicky, heavily spiced food?

Just don’t get me (or my hero) started on the extraordinarily loud, amplified music being played by groups here and there on street corners, will you?

(even if it does meet the guidelines)

Party animals (who, us?)

We’ve had a great weekend in London with friends, celebrating a couple of birthdays and generally enjoying their company.

It was an early start yesterday morning, but early starts mean the roads are clear and we were there at our hotel by 9.30ish.  Plenty of time to drop our bags, check in and have a leisurely walk to our lunchtime destination.

We pottered around Monmouth Street and Seven Dials for a while.  I’m glad we did, for not only did I find a couple of interesting things in my favourite art supply shop, I thought I’d step inside Eileen Fisher in Slingsby Place, just to see what’s what.  As you do.

Well, there was the black boiled wool coat I’d seen in September; the same one as Mary bought for me in Beverly Hills and brought with her when we went to Liverpool.  Except that the version in the shop yesterday had sleeves – very nice.  £495 reduced to £195.  Hmmm.  I tried it on and my hero declared that it looked good.  I think “Buy it” were the words he spoke

I began the transaction and offered my postcode as evidence of my “frequent buyer” status (!) and couldn’t quite believe my ears when the assistant announced that I had a gift voucher to spend on my account which would bring the price of the coat down to £94.  A bargain, or what?

Time to start the party then.  Lunch at Joe Allens with our friends, their friends (many of whom are also our friends) their rellies and especially nice, Edward and Amy (who are also their friends).  It was a quiet sort of do.  Not!

In the party spirit, then (but having put our feet up for an hour before heading out again) we had pre-theatre drinks in The Savoy before the brilliant, amazing Guys and Dolls.  What a show!  A fantastic cast, a full house and a really memorable performance.  Wow.

I can tell you, we were both pretty pleased to climb into our super-comfy bed last night!

This morning, the celebrations continued with the opening of a new pair of Falke socks, fresh from Strumpfstadt

Off we went again, meeting our friends for a morning concert at the Wigmore Hall.  Well, a little culture on a Sunday morning is good for the soul, isn’t it, and it has to be better than hissing at Rob’s utterances on The Archers Omnibus!

Edward and Amy were waiting for us at the Chiltern Firehouse when we got there, ready for a spot of lunch – or more accurately, brunch.  Fantastically tasty dishes, really well served (on hot plates!) with a glass or two of prosecco…well, why not?!  

Desserts were spectacular – well, we had to sample such interesting offerings, didn’t we?  (This is pannacotta with a burnt meringue surrounded by granita)

Sadly, all good things come to an end and this was the point where I wished for a teleport home.  Leaving London late on a Sunday afternoon isn’t good, but at least we were in our own comfy car and not on a rickety train (and bus replacement) to Eastbourne…

How blessed we are to have sweet friends who share such fun with us.  How lucky we are to be able to enjoy it, too!

Step into Christmas

We’ve been enjoying the company of our sweet friend and honorary sister Mary these last few days and following tradition, made our way to Daylesford to get into the spirit of the season.

We fall for the cool white and silvery beige tones every time: Such a contrast to the bright, gaudy decorations everywhere else.

But taste is a curse and such minimalism comes at a price.  Still, it costs nothing to look, does it?

The antidote to rampant consumerism on “panic Saturday” came in the form of Carols on the Hour at Gloucester Cathedral and as we sat listening to the Stuart Singers do their two gigs, we admired the “knitivity” (especially the cheeky camel!)

Poor Mary looks totally cheesed off by the whole affair, don’t you think?

We stepped into an altogether different Christmas at Abbeycwmhir on Sunday.  Don’t be fooled by the sober exterior.

Inside has been truly decked with not only boughs of holly but everything else as well.

After the muted elegance of Daylesford, believe me, it came as quite a shock.  52 rooms, all decorated for Christmas…

At least one tree in every room, each individually decorated to a theme.  This is the library tree.

This one stood in the billiard room amongst a range of stuffed animals.

The craft judge in me just had to take a closer look at that trailing braid to check if it was cross stitched (it wasn’t).

There was the crystal tree, with miniature pieces of crystal glinting in the light from the window.

A tree full of timepieces.

And a tree set amongst Royal Doulton figurines.  Many of them!  This is a house owned by collectors and one half of the couple, Paul gave us a great deal of background as he showed us around his home.

Because the remarkable thing is, Paul and his wife do really live here.  Not only that, but no door remains closed – this is a corner of one of the kitchen rooms.

Quite how they live in such an abundance of decorative “stuff” is a mystery to me.  I know that I would need to paint one room white and empty it of all the clutter just as a refuge.

But they must be used to it by now and of course, it’s their choice! 

When I reviewed my photographs, I was amazed that I managed to take one which had no sign of Christmas whatsoever.  That was quite an achievement, for as you can tell, Paul and his wife do not hold back with the decorations!

There was one room which would haunt me, however.  Filled with these knitted figures which are so frequently seen at village shows, they are every WI Craft Judge’s nightmare!  Yes, loads of work.  Not easy knitting.  Tricky construction.  But no play value whatsoever and what person do you know who would like one to grace their home?

I’ll take the cute camel every time.