A spot of shopping

First thing Sunday morning, we were off.  My hero had a little garage clearance to do, in preparation for the arrival of a new central heating boiler first thing Monday morning.  I had an altogether different assignation, however and caught the 0930 from Colchester to Liverpool Street, so we said our fond farewells at the station.

I have never seen London so full of people!  A sunny Sunday before Easter, with the London Marathon attracting a number of visitors as well, the train was absolutely stuffed and though I had boarded the train early enough to have a seat, by the time we reached Chelmsford, I was hemmed right into my corner with handbag, rucksack and all – hardly room to breathe.  There was a collective sigh when a good number of folks got out at Stratford, where the Olympic stadium and the red Orbit tower looked pretty interesting, too.

 

I took my bags to my hotel at Paddington and then went back into town to one or two of my usual haunts:  this one was a priority, but this and this took me a little further and whilst up at that end, I made my way across to here.  Their green wall looked wonderful in the sunshine, too – what an eye catcher!

All the time, I was keeping an eye on my phone, because somewhere, in that crowd at Wembley were my cousins, there to cheer on Hull City in the FA Cup semi final.  A Facebook update from Chris brought a tear to my eye; just like me, she’d been thinking of my Mum, my Aunt and my Uncle, all long time City fans who simply would never have believed that they’d be here, playing in the Cup.  Later, walking along Marylebone Road on my way to meet Mary, Edward and Amy for dinner at Orrery, I passed a bunch of fans and we shared a “yesss!” – what an afternoon they’d had.

Of course, I wasn’t there for the football, nor for the marathon.  I wasn’t even there for the World Irish Dancing Championships, though the little pony-tailed girls with fake tanned legs (which didn’t match their pale white faces, bless them) brought a smile to everyone waiting at the bus stop, because clearly, they just couldn’t stop dancing!  I needed a fortifying breakfast though, because I was here for some serious shopping.  Pat and I were going to share the fun with Jane, who was looking for a few key pieces for her wardrobe.

No, white jeans didn’t feature, but we had a great time pulling out jackets and dresses, searching for the elusive red cardigan and giving as expert advice as we could about accessorising and so on.

The pity is, we found the perfect jacket almost as soon as we began.  Very much “on trend” with the biker styling and semi fitted shape, it seemed an ideal startling point on which to build a capsule wardrobe. (See, in less than five minutes, Pat and I had become expert personal shoppers, with all the lingo, too)  But…(you knew that was coming, didn’t you?) as we took it to the tills, we discovered a large gaping seam at the back. The fabric was of such loose weave that the seam hadn’t held up through (I assume) repeated tryings on.  Returning to the rack of jackets to find another one, we discovered that every jacket on the stand had the same problem and one of them had a hole large enough to put a hand through.  No way was that going to be a good purchase, however stylish.  We moved right along and though we didn’t find anything quite as edgy and spirited, we made sure Jane didn’t go home with nothing to wear!

Shopping is exhausting though, and when three like minded women are together, of course there are other distractions.  This simple but effective installation in Anthropologie (of course) caught our eye, even though by that time, we were flagging a little.

As we went our separate ways in the late afternoon, we agreed to do it again – as soon as the trend for orange has passed, though I think that will continue at least until Hull City win the FA Cup, don’t you?

Where next?

Anyway, Thursday in Ledbury, Friday in Southend. Well, of course!

Actually, I had a little work to do just outside Chelmsford on Friday, so we chose to spend the weekend exploring a part of the country with which neither of us is at all familiar. Undecided about our plans until the very last minute, it seemed a good idea to begin with fish and chips on the seafront at Southend.

Or would “estuary-front” be more accurate? Regardless of that, a few hardy souls were there on the beach with their families, making the most of the intermittent sunshine.

Anyway, having completed my responsibilities and enjoyed a short and breezy walk along the prom, the world was our oyster as we made our way along the coast towards our bed for the night in Wivenhoe, just outside Colchester.

We’d had a difficult time finding somewhere to stay around here and hoped for somewhere just a little special, because Saturday was our 34th wedding anniversary. My hero booked a couple of nights at the Wivenhoe House which was fine – though I’d have swapped a few of those cushions for a couple of larger, softer pillows!

On Saturday morning we set out to explore the coast, starting at Brightlingsea.  Though the name was familiar, neither of us knew anything about this historical port and it required a quick google on a phone to answer one or two of our questions.

There weren’t many folks around on this breezy Saturday morning though and having jumped out of the car and decided not to invest in a couple of hours parking, we moved right along, towards Clacton.

Here, a collection of brand new pastel painted beach huts stood on the empty seafront and a couple of workmen were putting the finishing touches to a few more, a little further along the prom. 

I spent a while wondering what a teddy boy was doing promoting a Wartime Singalong before realising that it was simply because the newer poster didn’t quite cover the one underneath it.  Looking at the placement however, I wonder if it was deliberate?

It’s all fun in Clacton, though.

In contrast, nearby Frinton was somewhat more subdued.  I only knew of Frinton from reading articles like this one so was expecting a rather more genteel town than its neighbours. 

It does have a lovely open, grassy parkland overlooking the sea, totally uncluttered and devoid of all the usual seaside paraphernalia, though, and a rather good bookshop too.  We admired the work of Nigel Pepper who captures this coastline beautifully in his photographs which were displayed in the gallery there.

Feeling a bit peckish now, we made our way from the coast and drove towards Dedham.  We remembered, we’d been here before but in the late afternoon, on our way back from somewhere else.  This time, we intended to take a closer look.  First, though, tea and sandwiches (yummy!) in the Essex Rose Tearoom which was buzzing.

Next to catch our eye was Sherman’s Hall,  where the graffiti on those brickwork pillars was worth a closer look.

It reminded me of the scratched and carved initials in the chapel pews of Edward’s old Cambridge college, Peterhouse – leaving one’s mark behind is an age old habit.

Anyway, we had one last visit on our agenda – Castle House, the home of Alfred Munnings and now a gallery of his collected works.  Arriving just as it opened, we had the place almost to ourselves, save for a few enthusiastic (and rather distracting) volunteer guides.  I’d come across Munnings when I read Summer in February last year and though I wasn’t impressed with the man, his attitude and opinions, I was interested to see his work close up.  We weren’t disappointed, either and particularly enjoyed seeing his paintings of warm, summer days spent in hammocks, canoes or around the garden table with friends in the sunshine.

By this time, it was late afternoon and we were ready to return to Wivenhoe and settle down with the papers for an hour or two before dinner.  We reflected on that day 34 years ago, when my class of 8 year old girls all came to throw confetti and see Miss Boyd marry her fiancé.  Of course, they’ll all be in their 40s now, which is so very strange, since even after all these years, we haven’t changed a bit.

Well, not that much!

A few days here and there

A bit of April sunshine, the company of good friends and a weekend away to look forward to.  Mary and Diana were here from California, doing a bit of a recce for a forthcoming tour, so it was good that our corner of the world was looking at its best.  Standing on Crickley Hill at the viewpoint which many of our friends will recognise, we were able to identify the landmarks last Thursday morning.

We were on our way to Ledbury, where the door of the Shell House Gallery caught our eye moments before the offerings on the window alongside.

 

Tempting, n’est-ce pas?

Tempting, too, was the lovely local butcher’s shop opposite, where the secrets of black pudding, scotch eggs and faggots were shared!

Ledbury has many secret corners and a surprising number of excellent shops, including Hus & Hem where we could have spent a fortune!  For once, it was my hero who couldn’t resist a purchase – the most comfortable slippers ever, he’s declared.

A fun night at the pub with our sweet friends and we said our goodbyes and made arrangements for Friday morning, when we had a very early start.  We left them fast asleep and hoped that everything would go according to plan with keys, burglar alarms and Ian, the painter!

It did.  Of course.

Familiar territory

Unfinished embroidery projects, bits of half worked needlepoint and carrier bags with odd pieces of knitting in them, rolled up with the magazine which contains the pattern.  I think we all have such things tucked away somewhere and occasionally, I pull one out and think I’ll finish it.  But more often than not, the mere sight of it is enough to remind me why I became bored with it in the first place and I put it all back in the bag and stuff it back where it came from.  At home, these things were put behind the sofa and when we cleared Mummy’s house, sure enough, there they all were.  Did I add her UFOs to mine?  I’ll admit to keeping a couple!

So when I finished my meeting in Cirencester this morning and poked my head around the gallery door, my eyes fell on some familiar things.  There they all were!  All those half done cushion covers, the single socks and the pieces of embroidery with the needle still tucked in.  Tales of the Unfinishable is in town and clearly this project has hit the spot with a good many people, just as it did with me.

The exhibition is a kind of tent, with the colourful pieces on the outside tempting the visitor inside where the background stories are being told.  As I wandered around reading some of the short tales accompanying the actual pieces, I heard the voices of the contributors playing through the loudspeaker.  I was the only one there, so had a good look around, untroubled by anyone else – lucky me!

Of course, I had favourites.  Who hasn’t started a blackwork project like this with great enthusiasm, enjoying the rigour of the stitch without any of the worry of which colour should be in the needle?  But after a while, such detail begins to challenge and even after many hours work, there still seems so much still to do.  This is exactly the type of embroidery which I could find, stuffed in a cupboard here at home and which I have undoubtedly thought that I will finish some day.  One day.  Maybe.

Occasionally, at WI, we’ve had a bit of a swap shop, where people bring their unfinished projects and swap them for a different one.  Somehow, someone else’s unfinished work is more interesting than my own and of course, it doesn’t come with any …  well, I’ve tried hard to avoid the word, but I think you’ll know I’m talking about “guilt” here?  Is there guilt packed away with those bits of unfinished work then?  I don’t really know why, but yes, there is.  Not always, but definitely sometimes.  Did anyone mention feeling bad about having so many unfinished pieces of work stashed away or was it just me?  I looked around the exhibition to find a piece which took me home, so to speak.

And there it was.  In the last case I found the piece which was so typical of the kind of project I found behind the sofa.  A half finished cardigan, started with enthusiasm and the best of intentions but ultimately just too boring to knit.  I loved reading the story which accompanied it and wondered just how many such things there are in the world.  Why do we hang on to them all when we know, in our hearts that we’ll never finish them?

What a great concept for an exhibition, then!  What a marvellous idea to bring out all of those half finished wonders and prompt our memories like this!  If only I’d thought of it first, I could have populated the whole exhibition with my unfinished work alone

Highly recommended, the exhibition seems to finish here, having travelled all over the country already.  Quite how I missed it previously, I have no idea, but I’ll enjoy reading the ongoing blog and might even explore some of my UFOs and see if there’s something I fancy finishing.

Of course, I’ll put it all straight back again after I’ve looked, though.

Celebrating a birthday

London was looking lovely in the Spring sunshine yesterday.  Edward joined us there to celebrate M-i-l Bettine’s 89th birthday with a gentle day including lunch, a matinee and supper.

Tempting though it was to dive into the National Gallery for a quick shufty, or to take a short look in one or two shops, with the exception of a short detour to buy turkish delight in Fortnum and Mason, we kept right on focus and kept an even pace on through Trafalgar Square towards the Strand.  Lunch was calling!

We first saw someone performing this trick in Frankfurt a couple of years ago (scroll to the bottom of this post to see the German version)  Clever, yes.

So clever that another chap was performing exactly the same illusion about six feet away as well.

And another!  A few steps further along the pavement was a third version.  Maybe it’s not quite so difficult or entertaining after all?

Believe it or not, there was a fourth “floating man”.  What had seemed to us to be such an original and eyecatching act when we first saw it became silly and rather pointless when performed by so many in such a limited space.  No-one really paid much attention to any of the four of them, as you can see.

We moved right along.

We’d not been to The Savoy before and couldn’t resist taking a picture of these glorious orchids, so beautifully arranged in the lobby.  Lunch was delicious and perfect for the Birthday Girl, who loves to eat fish of any kind.  It was great to be able to step outside and straight into the theatre afterwards too, because we had tickets for Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, just next door.

We weren’t totally captivated by the show, but it fitted the bill and was a colourful and amusing diversion for the afternoon.  We hadn’t realised it had opened so recently and have enjoyed reading the reviews here and here, agreeing with most of what has been written about it.  The main thing was, Bettine enjoyed it.  That was all we hoped for.

Rather than drive straight home after the show, we enjoyed a stroll back through Leicester Square and Regent Street, dropping into our favourite Sartoria for drinks and a light supper with one last surprise – Tra came and joined us which rounded off a lovely day perfectly. 

There can be few better ways to spend the day than getting dressed up, going out on the town and coming home feeling “comfortably stuffed”.  I hope I’m still doing that when I’m 89!