283: Choose kindness. Choose love. Choose human.

I’m putting my hands up here and confessing to struggling a bit right now, so this week’s post might be a lot shorter than usual. Essex – well, the small bit of it I live in and travel through several times a week – is still being used as a excuse for a barrage of racist rhetoric and as a showcase for a vast collection of flags on lamp-posts and random bits of street furniture.

I wrote a lengthy post last Sunday on my Instagram feed, showing some of the flags – that have since been taken down but replaced within hours by people driving slogan-ridden Land Rovers and sporting balaclavas. They presumably claim to be proud Englishmen but aren’t proud enough to show their faces as they clamber up the CCTV poles, belisha beacons and lampposts of Epping and North Weald. It also had images of the steel fences on Bell Common that are used to make sure the protests don’t block the road and to keep the two factions apart. It’s telling that since these measures were put in place the more violent elements of the protests have faded: perhaps being in a contained area and unable to run at police or throw smoke bombs is less appealing when you’re more easily identifiable. Who knows?

The Insta post was written mostly in my head as I stomped through the Forest in a loop from Copped Hall. I couldn’t work out why I was so upset by the flags – I mean, I used to go out with a rabid Cockney who believed the Queen Mother should have been sainted and that St George was a born Englishman (and that the Anglo-Saxons came from Anglesey, but that’s another story). I’ve lived in England since 1997 and from 1991-1994 when I was at uni. My first date was in England – Coleford was the closest cinema to us. My kids are English, apparently. The flags themselves are not the problem.

It came to me in the end that it was because for the first time in the 28 years I’ve lived here I felt unwelcome. The people putting these flags up – and those saying how lovely they look, and why don’t they leave them up till VJ Day, and shouting down anyone who disagrees and abusing anyone who takes them down, and taking scissors out with them to cut down any counters to the flags – are actively using these flags to intimidate. They don’t even care whether they’ve hung them the right way up. And, as I said, they’re too cowardly to show their faces while they do it. There’s also the usual whinges that you’re not allowed to fly the flags in this country, lefties, woke, no one makes the Welsh take their flags down, two-tier policing, blah blah blah. When someone points out that they are perfectly entitled to fly whatever flags they like on their own property they point out that they’re taxpayers and they pay council tax so they pay for the lampposts…. well, I bet they can’t produce the paperwork to prove it. The vitriol and badly-spelled abuse is ongoing – reasoned arguments and statistics fall on deaf ears.

The council continues to double down on their claims that it’s the asylum seekers who are to blame for community unrest, and not the people descending on the town to spew hatred. They went to the High Court for an injunction this week claiming this – never mind that in the seven years the hotel has been in use only three arrests have been shouted about, yet 18 arrests have been made among the protestors since they started a month ago.

I can’t seem to shake my disappointment in my local town and in some people I know, and it’s affecting me quite badly. I need a break.

(And I’m even more glad I chose Choose Love as the charity I’m fundraising for this year – https://donate.chooselove.org/supporters/raising-money-for-choose-love/1472/)

Things that weren’t so bad this week

A gorgeous cooling-off evening swim on Tuesday with Jill, Sue and Rachel

My clever Thing 1 getting a distinction in her T-levels this week. We’re so very proud of her, as it hasn’t been an easy couple of years. Her tutors from college have been very supportive, too.

My new t-shirt

Making rainbow toadstool tops for this year’s fairy houses

Next week I will be coming to you live from the Eurotunnel!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Midnight & Blue – Ian Rankin

Talk to the Tail – Tom Cox

Foxglove Summer/The Furthest Station- Ben Aaronovitch (Audible)

The Vanderbeekers of 141st St – Karina Yan Glaser

The Saturday Night Sauvignon Sisterhood – Gill Sims

279: not in my name

It’s been a fair while since I’ve been quite so consumed with rage as I have this week, so you lucky readers get to read my rant about what’s been going on in our local town. If you’re a right-leaning, Reform-voting person who uses the actions of one person to launch a sanctimonious ‘we’re-not-racist-we-just-want-to-protect-our-children’ protest then you may wish to go and read something else. Perhaps the Daily Mail or the Express. The Torygraph probably has too many long words, though I concede that they do have a good crossword. Anyway.

I have written before about the experiences I have had with refugees and asylum seekers through my previous job and at my local primary school. I met many children from Somalia and Angola when I was first teaching in London: a significant number of whom had no idea (as four and five year olds) whether their parents were dead or alive as their parents had sent them away with an aunt or a friend to give them a chance to grow up. I’ve met more people recently through a work project.

Without exception every single one of them has been friendly, open, grateful to have reached somewhere they might feel safe and where they are ekeing out survival. One thing that’s been made clear to me through many conversations is that leaving their homes and putting their own and their families lives in mortal danger was not a choice they made lightly. Can you imagine being in a position where your only choices were certain or uncertain death and what it must cost you to make that choice?

In our Essex village there is a contingency hotel where families seeking asylum have been housed for several years now. Prior to that it was being used by Redbridge Council as emergency housing. It’s an old Travelodge and even when it was being used as a ‘proper’ hotel it was getting one-star reviews. Five star it aint. An asylum seeker set fire to it a few months ago. There was a crowdfunder started by a local secondary school to help the children housed at the hotel find accommodation close to the school so their GCSEs weren’t disrupted, and it was very well-supported. The accused arsonist tried, a week or so later, to set a similar fire in the Bell Hotel, Epping (this one has 2.7 stars) and he was arrested.

The Bell Hotel, Epping, has been used to house single male asylum seekers for about the same amount of time and under the same conditions. One of these asylum seekers – just one, although that’s more than enough – tried to kiss a teenage girl in Epping, and attempted to do the same to a woman. He’s been arrested and remanded in custody. This is right, as no one has the right to assault girls or women or men or boys or anyone else. It’s also probably saved him from serious injury at the hands of the locals, who have used this occurrence as an excuse for two violent protests and some vandalism and abuse in the ten days since, under the banner of ‘Epping has had enough’, with another one planned for today. The actions of one man are being used as an excuse to target and uproot the lives of hundreds of other people at these two hotels.

Well, I’d had enough when my teenage daughter was assaulted by the owner of a local business a couple of years ago and no one* felt the need to riot and protect the women and children of North Weald….but then the only border he’d crossed in the past few years was the one between Hertfordshire and Essex. Perhaps that made a difference?

Last Sunday there was a ‘peaceful protest’ at the hotel in Epping, which caused all sorts of traffic issues. Peaceful, that is, being a relative term: I’m sure the two hotel security guards who were beaten up and left with severe injuries when they got off the bus to start their shift might disagree. On Thursday there was another protest which most certainly wasn’t peaceful. Here’s the callout which went on Facebook:

The ‘leftys’ and ‘antifa’ they mention were a contingent from Hope Not Hate – not well-known for inflicting ‘violence and anger’ as far as I am aware unless smiting the enemy with well-reasoned research-backed arguments and workshops counts. And of course the far right element turned up, including known members of Far Right groups travelling from wider Essex and East London, and the ‘peaceful protest’ degenerated. Eight police officers were injured. These ‘peaceful protesters’ in balaclavas were attacking police vans and throwing things. They were using fireworks. Presumably these balaclava-sporting thugs are the same people who object to women wearing hijab. It strikes me that if you’re going to attend a protest for peaceful reasons, you probably ought to be brave enough to show your face and not be carrying, say, a blunt instrument and a smoke bomb or two.

The head of the local council has organised a petition to get the hotels shut down. Local councillors – including the execrable one from Ongar who was ejected from the Tories, became independent and is now in Reform – hand delivered a letter to the Home Secretary saying much the same. The local MPs are burbling away on the subject – Tory, of course, since a monkey in a blue suit could stand for parliament round here and get elected. The only time I have ever queued at the polling station was for the Brexit referendum, and look what happened there.

Apparently it’s all Keir Starmer’s fault, even though the Home Office have been using the hotels for the same purpose for more than five years. Social media is full of people complaining that these asylum seekers are supposed to seek asylum in the first safe country they arrive at (this is not the case – neither the 1951 Refugee Convention or international law require a person to claim asylum in the first safe country they reach, although the UK government would prefer it if they did); that they’re living in five star hotels (patently not the case) at the expense of local people who can’t get housing; and so on and so forth.

Social media is also full of people choosing to post anonymously. People going on about women and children not feeling safe on the streets of Epping. People claiming that all the violence was the police’s fault for not sending the ‘leftys and antifa’ back on the train and, in one case, giving them a lift to the hotels in their van. People accusing the police of ‘treason’ for throwing ‘the flag of Britain’ in a hedge. It was the St George’s flag so presumably the poster failed geography at school and also hasn’t been informed that old Georgie-boy was a resident of the Middle East and never set foot in England. Accusing the police of a hit and run, as they allegedly drove into a protestor who was sitting in the road.

Well, the only time I haven’t felt safe on the streets of Epping was this week, quite honestly. I lived in Epping for 12 years and we’ve been in North Weald for another 12. I walk alone for literally miles and have never felt worried. On Sunday I had to wait for a connecting bus home and wasn’t happy about that as we’d just come past the Bell on the rail replacement bus and had seen the police presence. On Thursday we were held on the train at Theydon Bois while the police dealt with an incident on the station, and I was reassured to see the heavy police presence on the station. I was less reassured – quite pissed off, in fact – to see the fear on the faces of the family who got on the bus with me. There’s a look about the people coming to the hotels: nervous, worried that they’re getting on the wrong bus, small scared children hanging onto one parent or other, a buggy laden with bags of possessions. Their fear makes me angry.

I feel terribly sorry for the teenager and the woman who were assaulted in Epping, of course I do. I am angry, however, that their experience is being used as an excuse for racism and violence against an equally vulnerable section of society. The people of Epping, if they genuinely want to make the streets safe for women and children, should perhaps volunteer for a rape crisis charity, or for Shelter, or for an organisation that does some good instead of allowing themselves to be allied with thugs and scum.

*except me, obvs. And my friends.

Things that did make me happy this week (yes, there were some)

Crocheting Prince for one of my oldest friends
Crocheting a long-eared bunny
Going to the monthly Dog Swim at Redricks with Sue and the Bella-Dog. Quite honestly the most joyous event ever. All the humans in the water and the dogs occasionally fetching a ball to humour them
The blackbird in the garden who sings the first six notes of Elton John’s ‘Passenger’
Baby badgers bumbling in the bushes
Our second access panel meeting
A lovely evening at the Quentin Blake: Ninety Drawings exhibition. I got to chat to Axel Scheffler who is a delight.
Day two of WXSP – less hot!

This week Thing 3 breaks up for the summer holidays, which he is pleased about. So am I.

Same time next week, gang!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Rosemary and Rue – Seanan McGuire

Blood Debt – Tanya Huff

Stone and Sky – Ben Aaronovitch (and Amongst Our Weapons/Lies Sleeping/False Value/Rivers of London on Audible)

Between The Stops – Sandi Toksvig

230: there’s a nap for that

I like sleep. I’m a big fan of it, quite frankly, and am willing to embrace it at the drop of an eyelid. Lockdown was brilliant, as I was on furlough, it was really hot and I could have siestas in my hammock whenever I wanted. Weekends almost always include a good nap or two. At night I like to read a bit (until the book falls out of my hands, usually) and then snuggle down with whichever cat happens to be on hot water bottle duty until the alarm goes off.

The hot water bottle on International Cat Day this week

One of the most annoying bits about menopause – which was saying something, given the rest of the symptoms – was the constant waking up at stupid o’clock and not being able to go back to sleep, but the patches seem to have sorted that out. Sleeping with earplugs has also helped enormously. My Beloved claims that earplugs aren’t helping him as he can still hear me snoring, but he can always get his own.

However, so far no one has made a patch that reduces wakefulness due to stress (the first of our National Lottery Heritage Fund community co-design projects starts this week, and what if no one turns up? I haven’t booked the transport yet! Is the bus big enough? What if it’s a total disaster? What if no one comes to the last day which is the really important one? What have I forgotten? What if too many turn up for the bus who didn’t RSVP? Argh! ).

There isn’t a patch to deal with having an 18 year old daughter on the loose in London with her friends, either. Thing 1 has embraced raving and has been off to South London (of all places!) a few times since her birthday. I am not sure why I am more concerned with her going to Vauxhall or Lambeth than when she goes to Camden, but there we are. We give her the lecture every week: no sex, no drugs, no sausage rolls (on the basis that rock’n’roll is in short supply at raves, but there might well be a hot dog seller or a 24 hour Greggs to hand). She’s quite sensible, we think, and we know she’s got a getting home plan and she’s with her friend from the village, but STILL. It’s my job.

At this point my mother is cackling away in her little village in Gaul and muttering about karma. I see you, mother. Don’t deny it.

Things making me happy this week

A couple of evening walks with Thing 2 through the fields and woods between our village and the next. There were deer, we startled a badger on his dusk patrol up near the fishing lake, gorgeous waterlilies.
I say walk – my Achilles has been playing up so more of a hobble. Still, I made it to week 5 on the C25k before it went. However, this evening it went ‘pop’ which Google assures me is not a good sign.
A day at the Peel/Three Corners Street Party – bubbles, dogs to make friends with (including a puppy who’d never seen bubbles before and kept trying to catch them), a DJ playing excellent tunes, lots of people interested in our project.
Saturday with my gazebo, touting my wares at a local church fundraiser. Sold a few bits and bobs, talked to lots of nice people and cut out a lot of paper hexagons for an English Paper Piecing project while sitting in a pretty graveyard. I love a graveyard, as you know.
Hydrangeas flowering nicely thanks to no intervention from me
The prospect of a few days off and a new dress pattern.
Apple cakes using my mum’s recipe, making use of the windfalls in the garden.
Early doors walk with Jill on Friday, putting the world to rights and plotting dastardly deeds.
Progress on the kantha-inspired bag which I keep forgetting to take photos of.
Unputdownable books.

And that’s it from me – next week I’ll try and remember to take photos, as I’m off with a load of families to Kew Gardens. If they turn up. And if the bus is big enough.

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Still Life – Val McDermid

Joe Country/Down Cemetery Road – Mick Herron

The Diary of a Secret Tory MP – The Secret Tory MP

Honeycomb – Joanne M. Harris (Audible)

The Full English – Stuart Maconie

The Covent Garden Ladies – Hallie Rubenhold

Necropolis – Catharine Arnold

222: a nettle-strewn hellscape, you say?

Last Sunday afternoon London sister Tan and I went for our first long walk for aaaaages – well, since the ludicrously long one we did last July. She’s been running a lot (marathons and half marathons) while I have been doing weekend wanders and hoping that at some point the rain will stop long enough for the footpaths to dry out.

Despite her belief that Essex is a fly-blown wasteland, Tan trekked over to my ‘ends’ and we did the Moreton and the Matchings circular walk that I’d tried a couple of times last year. It takes in a few pretty churches and villages, and – as it turned out – a LOT of nettles that haven’t been cut back. These were head height in places, with added brambles, and some farmers haven’t cut the crossfield paths so many detours were taken. I spent some time on Monday morning reporting all this to the council, who may or may not get round to looking at it in an estimated nine weeks or so. Add the detours to my legendary (lack of) sense of direction, and the 17k walk came in at just under 20k.

You can just see the top of my head – this was a waymarked footpath!

We stopped for a snack break (Mini Cheddars, Snickers and coffee) on the green at Matching, next to the very pretty medieval marriage feast house and the church, facing an oak tree that was planted for Queen Victoria’s jubilee in 1887. The friendly vicar came along and very helpfully told us that they had a toilet, which made us happy. We saw kestrels, heard a lot of pheasants, snuck up on a few bunnies and a muntjac, and apart from the extremely hardcore nettles it was a good ramble. We finished with a look inside the 13th century St Mary the Virgin church in Moreton, where we’d parked the car, and then she refused to take my directions on the way home and insisted on using the satnav. Honestly!

Still, Tan’s opinion of Essex has changed – it’s now a nettle-strewn hellscape. Which is nice.

So how’s that skirt coming along?

Very well, thank you for asking! Having definitely said last week that I wasn’t going to do any boro patching as it would be too cottagecore for words, I remembered that not only did I have some Japanese prints in the stash, I had a boro inspiration pack from Japan Crafts that some lovely Secret Santa gave me a couple of years ago when the Young V&A theme was ‘blue’ so clearly DESTINY was saying DO A PATCH.

Also, the skirt doesn’t have pockets, and I NEED pockets, so I made a boro patch as a pocket. I used some of the indigo fabrics, some scraps from the V&A sample sale, and a square of cotton as a base, and lined it to make a patch pocket. That was my portable project on the tube this week, and it was clearly performance crafting as people kept watching me. As well as the running sashiko stitch, I also used some of the fabric features to embellish with lazy daisy stitch and outlining hexagons. I enjoyed it so much that I looked for other things to boro – starting with some of the zillion cotton tote bags I have collected over the years, probably! This will also encourage me to use some of the embroidery threads people keep giving me…

I gave up on all my marking tools and just used washable poster paint to mark out the final bits of stitching I wanted to do on the skirt, which was lovely and messy and a good way to spend a Saturday afternoon after a morning of ironing. While waiting for the front of the skirt to dry, I marked up a fabric pouch that I bought in a Hobbycraft sale with the Seigaiha (wave) stencil, and then used Bondaweb and more fabric scraps to create a boro panel on a tote bag. The yellow marking pencil worked on this, so I used the Sakura (cherry blossom) and Fondou (weight) stencils for a panel as well. That should keep me busy! Also, guess what everyone is getting for Christmas?

Things making me happy this week

Cat insurance. Lulu isn’t well and the vet quoted me £600. Once I’d stopped freaking out they helped me put the claim in so that they would be paid directly. Now we just need to get the meds down her.
Inter-library loans, and new colleagues who recommend books to me. The two may be connected.
Lots of strawberries and raspberries from the garden
Coffee with Brian on Thursday morning and a colleague who is leaving asking if they can join my early morning coffee roster. This is clearly now A Thing.
Cinnamon Bun flavoured Pretzel Flipz.

Today I am off to hang out with illustrator Skye Baker at the Little Angel Theatre community street party in Islington, where we’ll be illustrating houses.

Next week I may even have finished the skirt – the problem is always knowing when to stop with these things….

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Demolition Angel/The Forgotten Man/The Watchman/The Promise – Robert Crais

Shadowstitch – Cari Thomas

Neither Here Nor There – Bill Bryson (Audible)

219: you are entering the Twilight Zone

As it turned out, all the weirdos were lying in wait for full moon week before lurching out of the woodwork to talk to me. I thought we’d gotten away lightly last week. Perhaps they don’t venture south of the river.

Whatever, they certainly latched onto me this week, virtually every time I found myself waiting for buses.

On Tuesday afternoon, on my way back from work, I had just missed a bus and with time in hand before the next week I was quietly reading my book, listening to music (The Airborne Toxic Event, if you’re interested) and enjoying the sunshine. A man asked me if the Harlow bus had gone (yes), we briefly chatted about the weather (nice) and then he left me alone. This is my preferred method of conducting a bus stop conversation. Mere moments later a man in a raincoat sidled up to me and started expounding on his idea that London Transport should build a multistorey car park with a new station underneath it so that the Epping Ongar Railway could have the the old station and run trains to Epping*, and the Central Line could run into the new station and there would still be places to park. Three times he told me this, despite my initial polite but noncommittal nods, the fact that my earbuds were still in and I was trying to emanate ‘GO AWAY’ vibes. And then he informed me that he was wearing a raincoat because even though it was sunny it was going to rain, whipped out his phone and proceeded to show me his radar map to prove it. At this point it must have sunk in that I really, really wasn’t interested and he wandered off. Harlow bus man said he thought I knew him and by the time he realised I didn’t and might need rescue it was too late.

Moments later, having failed to find anyone else to talk at, he circled back towards me and I went and hid behind someone else. I’m not even sorry.

Wednesday morning – again, earbuds in place and this time trying to do my Duolingo lessons – a woman on the bus stop in the village finished a phone call and decided that as I was the only other person on the stop that it would be fine to tell me all her woes (of which there were many, principally caused by her unhelpful brother and sister-in-law and possibly the people not fitting her new double glazing). I did not want to hear her woes. I have seen her around the village, usually accompanied by her woeful-looking husband, but have never spoken to her before and she isn’t even the type of person who says good morning to the other people on the bus stop on a normal day. This is a state of affairs I would have been happy to see continue. What if she now continues to speak to me whenever she sees me? Fortunately the bus was very busy when it arrived and she found another person to tell all her woes to.

The man who approached me as I was waiting for the #4 bus from Archway back to the office later that morning got short shrift from me, I can tell you.

*Actually this is not a bad plan. But still.

Things making me happy this week:

A new haircut
Studio Ghibli characters on signage at Whitechapel Station
A great afternoon with the London East Teacher Training Alliance cohort – always one of my favourite visits (been doing these for well over 10 years now!). This year I took along the wonderful story teller Olivia Armstrong and the Coat of Many Pockets, and we explored sequential illustration and sensory story telling inspired by Quentin Blake’s Angelica Sprocket’s Pockets. Warm, joyful, energising – ‘I didn’t look at the time once, I can’t believe it went so fast’.
Friends (always, but one pair went above and beyond last Sunday morning)
The library reservation service
Seeing not one but four Dakotas flying over the village, before a visit to Duxford next weekend and then a trip to Normandy for a parachute drop on the D-Day anniversary

This week marks the start of a summer of popping up at various festivals and street parties in Islington, armed with an illustrator and making our presence felt in the borough as we start the journey towards opening. So exciting!

See you next week,

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading

Stalking the Angel/Lullaby Town/Freefall/Sunset Express – Robert Crais

Necropolis – Catharine Arnold

217: sequins and a shortage of shorts

Yesterday I found myself watching some of the Eurovision finals for the first time since I don’t know when. I am not sure what to think about it – some of the songs were truly dreadful (Norway), some were naff, and some of the staging caused my eyebrows to raise almost to my hairline (I’m looking at you, UK, and a bit of side-eye for Finland as well). Graham Norton is a worthy successor to Terry Wogan, complete with cheeky comments, and there were enough sequins to keep the entire cast of Priscilla Queen of the Desert in costume for some years. Why was the man from Croatia wearing his Granny’s tablecloth? Why was one of the Ukrainian ones dressed as a pimped Ghengis Khan? Just some of the many, many things that crossed my mind….

This pair would have blended right in at Eurovision

The comperes in Malmo didn’t half drag out the results though, which got quite annoying towards the end but did give cheeky Graham a chance to be entertaining. I do feel a bit sorry for poor Olly Alexander with his nul point from the audience, but it was pretty dreadful all round – sad, as I rather like some of his Years and Years stuff. The ‘political’ voting was interesting this year, and perhaps it was best that neutral Switzerland won in the end….

The entertainment the previous night was far more spectacular, and caused my social media to go quite mad the following day. I am, of course, talking about the Northern Lights making an appearance all over the UK thanks to a huge geomagnetic storm. We were lucky in that we had a very clear night as the persistent rain has finally taken a break, and after trying to spot them from the back garden where the lights kept coming on, Thing 2 and I went for a late night walk on the Common behind the house where we were away from the streetlights.

I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights, but had never expected to, so this was a magical moment. Although my phone camera picked up the colours better than the naked eye, the sky itself was glowing and constantly changing with cloudplay; the stars were out in force and we were awestruck by the show. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it. Both of us wished we were in West Wales watching over the sea, but Essex just had to do on this occasion. North Weald has a lot of sky, and we don’t get the glow from London so much, so we were lucky.

(At the risk of sounding entirely soppy, too, both my sisters were watching the same lights in west London and Northern Ireland at the same time, and that felt pretty special as well).

I did check for triffids in the garden the following morning…

Other things making me happy this week:

Many completed crochet cacti and some bags for the Copped Hall stall at the beginning of June
A visit from the local peacocks
Gorgeous sunny swim this morning – and a nice cup of hot chocolate and a bacon roll when we decided not to swim in the pouring rain last Monday
GrandThing 2’s first birthday party yesterday – a Peter Rabbit party in our back garden
Sunshine!
Not migraines, though. No.

And now I’m off to enjoy the sunshine with some crochet and a cup of coffee, and quite possibly a maple raisin muffin. See you all next week!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Bubbles A Broad/Bubbles Betrothed/Bubbles All the Way – Sarah Strohmeyer

Pay Dirt – Sara Paretsky

A Walk in the Woods/The Lost Continent – Bill Bryson (Audible)

Necropolis – Catharine Arnold

204: unexpected water hazards

Yesterday I accidentally went on a nearly-13km walk. I’d woken up at 6am and been unable to go back to sleep, so once I’d had a cup of coffee and had a bit of a read and since it wasn’t raining I decided I’d go for a bit of a wander in search of inspiration. My plan, such as it was, was to head to the farm to say good morning to the baby cows, turn around at 2.5km, pick up some milk and be back for breakfast. Yup, that sounds pretty straightforward, I hear you say. Baby cows, milk, breakfast.

Well, once I’d said good morning to the baby cows and arrived at the 2.5km point, I was feeling full of the joys of spring, as you do when the sun is shining, the bushes are full of robins and blue tits and there’s a good playlist on Spotify (a lot of glam rock, as it goes.). 10k felt doable, so I kept going into Toot Hill and turned down towards the wonderfully Hobbitish-named Clatterford End.

This is a lane that I’ve been down before, but always turned round at 5km as I don’t really know where it goes. Clatterford End isn’t really a place at all. So – and I can pinpoint this as the moment it all got out of hand – I looked at the map. Just a little Google, I thought, to see where the road goes. I might see some interesting things to put in my sketchbook at the end of the day, at the very least, and I might find some new footpaths to explore when swamp season is over in Essex. We’ve had so much rain recently that the clay is saturated and the footpaths are running water, so offroading was very definitely not in my plan.

Well, it turned out that if I carried on down this lane and turned left I would end up going in a big circle back to Toot Hill and it probably wouldn’t be much more than 10k. So I carried on. It was all going well- I even knew where I was which, as it happened, was a bit of a blessing. My mental map of the area had just connected a few dots….and then there was a flood, So deep it had an abandoned car on one of the banks. I could not go over it. I could not go under it, and I damn sure wasn’t going through it.

Offroad it was then. You can see from the map that there’s a weird loop-the-loop. This is where I opened the Ordnance Survey app, found a route back to the road which would take me past the flood, only to find that the footpath was blocked by brambles and more water. So I resigned myself to a trek along the Essex Way and it was exactly as swampy, sticky, slippy and slurpy as I expected it to be in early February. I muttered and grumbled and slipped and slid slowly back through to Toot Hill, glaring at small streams and puddles and passing dogwalkers, said hello to the baby cows again and stomped back up the hill. I remembered the milk though, and treated myself to a hot bath followed by tomato soup and a Spanish hot chocolate. And a nap.

I did get to draw my day, and was quite inspired by some road signs mostly as I didn’t feel brave enough to try sketching the baby cows. I did try the cherry blossom from the garden, and noted down my soundtrack and a lyric from one of my favourite songs. Saturday is clean sheets day, so that was marked too, and I took a leaf out of Bob Ross’s book and turned my mistake into a bird. I enjoyed playing with pencils and markers and colours, and I’m quite pleased with how it turned out.

Also this week…

Last Sunday the entire clan visited Get To know Animals, a relatively new mini-zoo and animal experience centre just outside Epping. It was an interesting experience – Thing 2 ended up traumatised by seeing two ring-neck parakeets attacking a quail in the bird enclosure. Grandthing 1 handled a rabbit called Gandalf that was almost as big as he was, and Thing 3 was given a ferret experience as a birthday present from his big sisters. He and my Beloved were rolling around the floor with them.

Thing 2 loves a ferret, and feels I should love them too. Actual conversation:

Thing 2: You should hold the ferret, mum

Me: No thank you

Thing 2: No no, hold the ferret, he’s really furry

Me: I do not want to hold a ferret, thank you.

Thing 2: <puts ferret on me>

Ferret: <sinks fangs into my chin>

Me: OOOWWWWWW

I liked the flirty alligator though and I’d happily adopt a cloud rat or take home a tortoise or two.

Thing 3 and I had a great night out seeing the RSC’s My Neighbor Totoro at the Barbican for his birthday treat – no photos are allowed, but I can say it was absolutely magical: the special effects for the Totoros, soot sprites and the Catbus were so cleverly done, and we had an amazing evening. It was his first theatre experience and it’ll be hard to beat. Thing 2 made him an amazing birthday cake.

Also…

Coffee and a good catch-up with an ex-Museum of London colleague
Taking part in a Careers Day at a school in East Ham
An inspiring meeting with the wonderful Parent House in Islington
Coffee with a friend at the King’s Head
Getting up to date with this year’s cross stitch temperature tracker

And that’s it for me – it’s been a pretty busy week, in and out of London and wrestling with the Central Line every day (ugh), but that does mean I have done a lot of crochet on the leafy scarf!

Same time next week then!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Over Sea, Under Stone/The Dark is Rising/Greenwitch – Susan Cooper (Audible)

The Fever of the World/The House of Susan Lulham/The Cold Calling – Phil Rickman

Draw your Day – Samantha Dion Baker.

190: remind me whose side we’re on again?

I must first start with an apology – it turns out I lied to you last week and I was not, in fact, refreshed and raring to go but rather coming down with a horrible cold which quite ruined the early half of the week. It was one of those colds where you can’t think straight, everything feels sort of achy and even your hair hurts. Not the best frame of mind for writing budget submissions, I think you’ll agree. My mind was so fuzzy that when I did a covid test in the office on Tuesday morning and the ‘C’ line came up, I freaked out, grabbed a mask and would have shot out of the door in the direction of home if my less-germy colleague hadn’t reminded me that the ‘C’ was for control and not Covid, and that I needed two lines for a positive test.

Still, by Wednesday I was almost human again which was just as well, as we launched our schools events for National Illustration Day with a CPD led by two of our illustrator-educators (Lily and Toya). They demonstrated the activities available in the free schools resources and some of the participants shared their work around celebrations: all the different things we celebrate that bring us together, human moments of contact and joy, as well as celebrating illustration itself. Now we’re planning the day itself – 24 November, for anyone who’d like to get involved. We have had some discussions this week about whether it’s appropriate to be celebrating anything, given what’s going on in the world, but our focus for schools was always on celebrating the fact that we are all different but celebrations bring us together…

…which, if I do say so myself, is a brilliant segue into Guy Fawkes Night and all its attendant celebrations: bonfires and fireworks and sparklers and lights in the darkness and things. Apparently we’re supposed to be celebrating the fact that Parliament and the King weren’t blown up. Personally, given the political omnishambles (I love this word) of the past fifteen years or so, I have developed more and more sympathy for Mr F and his co-conspirators. These days they may of course have contented themselves with a Change.org petition or a nice middle-class march from Hyde Park to Westminster with accompanying banners and memorable chants, but these probably won’t be being marked four centuries later with mass gatherings in muddy fields.

I love the whole family ritual of Bonfire Night, right down to that muddy field. Last night I volunteered to help at the local school and Scout group’s display, and ended up checking tickets on the gates. Seeing all the families arrive with the kids in snowsuits and earmuffs and wellies and bobble hats, all excited about the evening ahead, was lovely. People were coming through and telling us that this was where they’d been to school and it was the first time they’d been back in years, some of the teachers were there with their families, teenage couples were there on dates, multigenerational groups were out in force lugging grannies and grandads along for the fun. We were in competition with another, bigger display at the airfield, run by the local Round Table, so it was gratifying to see so many people.

The display was excellent and went on for ages with a satisfying mix of things that went bang and wheeeeee and fffzzzzz and pew and pop, making gorgeous showers of lights and sparks and causing ooohs and aahs from the crowd. Thing 2 (responsible for the videos above) was with her best friend, and they had a great time getting their shoes muddy. I walked home with them afterwards, with the pops and bangs of the airfield display and smaller garden versions echoing round the village. I shall look forward to next year!

Other things making me happy this week:

Asda only giving me 4 substitutions and 7 things they couldn’t provide – still double figures but at least they found some potatoes this time
A mooch round the charity shops of Bishops Stortford with my Beloved and Thing 2
A really interesting meeting at New River Head on Friday afternoon with two brick experts who work in historic building restoration and conservation
Not having to claim back all my tube journeys because of delays on the Central Line
Organising the office Secret Santa

And that is it for me for another week – I have a day planned of crafting for Christmas markets (I’ll be at Epping Christmas Market on 2 December and Maple Walk School on 3 December), and still have a to-do list as I keep finding things I need to make!

Same time next week,

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Flip Back/Low Action/Attack and Decay – Andrew Cartmel (Audible)

Underground Overground – Andrew Martin

The Saki Megapack

187: it’s just a jump to the left…

Yesterday I accompanied my neighbour Sue to the London Festival of Gymnastics at the Brentwood Centre, where one of her daughters was performing with the Epping troupe of gymnasts. As someone who I am pretty sure was given her Brownie agility badge out of sympathy, as watching my continued attempts to catch a beanbag or hop in a straight line was just too painful, the skill, spatial awareness and sheer co-ordination required to take part in these events is frankly awe-inspiring. There were teams from all over the UK and Ireland – even Monmouth, who I didn’t get to see sadly.

There are days when walking in a straight line is beyond me, and a Clubbercise session where I manage to keep up with the routines is an achievement. Sequential movements just don’t stay in my head: the onset of Oops Up Side Your Head or some other chart-topping dance craze sends me off a dancefloor faster even than Ed Sheeran.*

The theme this year was ‘Back to the Past’, compered by a man who was not only dressed as Marty McFly but also was a semi-pro can-can dancer and gymnast in his younger years. The clubs had translated this in their own ways, and while some were fairly straightforward others were more tangential but no less brilliant. My favourites were the Wednesday and The Umbrella Academy themed ones, probably because the music was more my thing (The Cramps, of course, but also the Stranglers and other soundtrack highlights). The Scottish team’s rights of the child routine was ambitious but their fixed grins were a bit incongruous at some points.

Some songs popped up over and over throughout the morning (Destiny’s Child, Survivor, was a repeat offender) and in an overwhelmingly female environment there were a lot of Spice Girls moments but all the routines used them differently. Great towers of children, tiny people being thrown up in the air and caught (phew!), acrobatic flips and walkovers and tumbles – all without crashing into each other. Amazing. And so many sequins! Never have I wanted to don something sparkly quite so much.

Just watching it was so exhausting I had to go and have an afternoon nap when I got home.

*I can do The Time Warp, obviously.

Other things making me happy this week

A visit to Young V&A with the Quentin Blake Centre for Illustration on Thursday
Speaking to the MA Illustration course at UAL Camberwell about co-design and why we do it
A trip to Hoxton Street Monster Supplies and going through the secret door to the Ministry of Stories for an imaginative conversation. I tried Jaffa biscuit tea and did not see Wells, the invisible cat
An adventure on the high seas of Haringey to the Literacy Pirates where I got to visit their ship, tucked away in the rafters of The Trampery
Impromptu prosecco with Miriam
Ferrety fun at Copped Hall Apple Day
Autumn landing in the garden

Now I’d better go and get ready for a swim! The weather has changed abruptly this week, from 23 degree sunshine at the start of the week to rain and a definite chill by the weekend.

Same time next week!

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Written In Dead Wax/The Run-out Groove/Victory Disc – Andrew Cartmel (Audible)

Devil in a Blue Dress/Red Death – Walter Mosley

The E Nesbit Megapack – E. Nesbit

184: the countdown begins

Apparently it is only 29 days until Thing 2’s birthday. She is the most organised child when present-giving occasions are looming, providing all about her with wishlists ranked out of ten. These are regularly updated via Google Docs, when she remembers that she really, really wanted some black flared leggings or some obscure Japanese snackfood. One year she put a cake mix on her list to make sure she got the right cake. I think she feels slightly cheated that she has an autumn birthday so all her present opportunities are squashed up at the end of the year, bless her. Welcome to my October, everyone: a daily countdown to B-Day. At least it keeps her mind off Christmas.

Speaking of October…

Autumn is definitely peeking its head over the horizon, with some spectacular thunderstorms rumbling around the place and cooler mornings. I took myself out for a walk this morning and while the trees are still green the rosehips are glowing and the blackberries are almost over. Seedpods are replacing flowers and the fields are being ploughed in, resulting in clay platforms on your trainers where the footpaths have disappeared. I was an inch taller by the time I got to the flood meadow.

I also took the opportunity for a sneaky peek into one of our local pillboxes, which sits aloof in the middle of a field near the airfield. It’s in pretty good nick and the local farmer seems to be furnishing it with a carpet of old tyres for some reason. Thanks to the airfield, which began as a Royal Flying Corps base in 1917 and then played a crucial part of the Battle of Britain, we have a good collection of military bits and bobs around the village but this is the only pillbox not badly overgrown. There was a mushroom pillbox on my walk too and at the top of the hill behind the house the old Victorian Redoubt boasts a couple of Allen-Williams turrets, also from WW2, which protected the radio station there.

Other things making me happy this week:

Launching the schools campaign for National Illustration Day
Banana and Malteser cake – my signature dish, according to the kids
The weather being cool enough for crocheting the Hydrangea blanket I’ve been working on for two years
Crocodile stitch trees on the tube

Same time next week?

Kirsty x

What I’ve been reading:

Racing the Light – Robert Crais

Soul Music – Terry Pratchett (Audible)

The Lost Apothecary – Sarah Penner

An Utterly Impartial History of Britain – John O’Farrell

The Fine Art of Invisible Detection – Robert Goddard