Ain't 'alf been some clever bastards.
Jack went to Scotland recently; walking and staying in mountain bothies. I didn't go, but now I've seen the photos I wish I had. I thought I'd better share some of them, they're pretty beautiful, not just the place but the quality of the images. He uses a film camera - I have endless admiration for folks who go analogue, I just haven't the patience.
There you go. Jealous? I know I am. Maybe next time.
Also (on the travel theme) one of our very finest regulars at Spitalfields has moved away to Canada - so I guess she's become an irregular - and she's writing a lovely blog all about it if you fancy a peep.
There you go. Jealous? I know I am. Maybe next time.
Also (on the travel theme) one of our very finest regulars at Spitalfields has moved away to Canada - so I guess she's become an irregular - and she's writing a lovely blog all about it if you fancy a peep.
Gamboling in the country.
This weekend Jack and I went out shopping in the country, it's always good to shop outside of London and I got quite a haul, though I haven't photographed all of it.
I've just captured my favourite bits, like this wicker creation.
And this tiny tea set, to add to all the other tiny tea sets I've bought recently. Ridiculous.
But it is rather handsome I think you'll agree. Other than tiny tea sets I really like . . . really big tea cups. Look at this whopper: one can barely extend one's pinky when one lifts it.
See how big it is compared to a VW Beetle! (this joke is on loan from The Bognor Bugle)
Also some funny tin toys, I think maybe the butterfly is meant to spin on the flowers or summat, but they would also make splendid brooches.
Normally I can resist the urge to buy wooden spoons - they are a bloomin' ridiculous thing to buy after all - but this week I was seduced by a big bundle of them. Bah.
And some T.G.Green caddies which I like, slightly more rustic than your average.
We managed three car boot sales before midday on Sunday so were pretty zonked come the evening, but happy too mind.
At the first car boot of the day we were befriended by a splendid chap called Ivan the Terrible. He wasn't actually that terrible, but a short man who looked to be about the consistency of bread dough with a little stubbly moustache left over from the seventies. He had a small entourage of people around his stall, a lady with very long grey hair, his sister, and a man with a mullet who was cradling a miniature lassie dog inside his flourescent jacket. Ivan was dishing out tea and coffee from really big flasks. His sister was ensconced in granny chair (part of his stock) right in the middle and at the front of the stall, which I imagine was a little off-putting for browsers but heck.
He offered us a tea or a coffee and we politely declined . . . which we soon realised was probably the wrong answer. Ivan obviously appreciated that we weren't local and offered us again, slightly more insistently. . . that time we said yes. He fished a couple of mugs out of his stock and filled them up for us, asking whether we'd like sugar or sweeteners. 'Isn't that better' he said, and he was right, it was a lovely cup of tea and I did feel better. As we were making our way to the car park he caught up with us and insisted that anytime we go back to that boot we really must stop for another drink 'We've always got tea and coffee, always'.
Gawd bless that man, I know exactly how he feels - when you sell stuff and you've got your own stall in a busy place it's really nice to be able to provide stuff for people. I love a small tea gathering behind the stalls at Spitalfields, maybe I should follow Ivan's example and invest in some large flasks, or even a tea urn . . .
I've just captured my favourite bits, like this wicker creation.And this tiny tea set, to add to all the other tiny tea sets I've bought recently. Ridiculous.But it is rather handsome I think you'll agree. Other than tiny tea sets I really like . . . really big tea cups. Look at this whopper: one can barely extend one's pinky when one lifts it.See how big it is compared to a VW Beetle! (this joke is on loan from The Bognor Bugle)Also some funny tin toys, I think maybe the butterfly is meant to spin on the flowers or summat, but they would also make splendid brooches.
Normally I can resist the urge to buy wooden spoons - they are a bloomin' ridiculous thing to buy after all - but this week I was seduced by a big bundle of them. Bah. And some T.G.Green caddies which I like, slightly more rustic than your average. We managed three car boot sales before midday on Sunday so were pretty zonked come the evening, but happy too mind.At the first car boot of the day we were befriended by a splendid chap called Ivan the Terrible. He wasn't actually that terrible, but a short man who looked to be about the consistency of bread dough with a little stubbly moustache left over from the seventies. He had a small entourage of people around his stall, a lady with very long grey hair, his sister, and a man with a mullet who was cradling a miniature lassie dog inside his flourescent jacket. Ivan was dishing out tea and coffee from really big flasks. His sister was ensconced in granny chair (part of his stock) right in the middle and at the front of the stall, which I imagine was a little off-putting for browsers but heck.
He offered us a tea or a coffee and we politely declined . . . which we soon realised was probably the wrong answer. Ivan obviously appreciated that we weren't local and offered us again, slightly more insistently. . . that time we said yes. He fished a couple of mugs out of his stock and filled them up for us, asking whether we'd like sugar or sweeteners. 'Isn't that better' he said, and he was right, it was a lovely cup of tea and I did feel better. As we were making our way to the car park he caught up with us and insisted that anytime we go back to that boot we really must stop for another drink 'We've always got tea and coffee, always'.
Gawd bless that man, I know exactly how he feels - when you sell stuff and you've got your own stall in a busy place it's really nice to be able to provide stuff for people. I love a small tea gathering behind the stalls at Spitalfields, maybe I should follow Ivan's example and invest in some large flasks, or even a tea urn . . .
Making babies
I've been making babies. Not human babies, just plant babies - the sort you can make without having to kiss a boy.
This plant is called Mother of Millions, isn't it good-looking? It is a prolific reproducer - each of those little points grows a tiny sort of bud which then drops to the ground and makes a new plant.
I've been helping it out by putting the buds into pots - we'll see how they do.
I've also been taking cuttings from geraniums. When they get all long and leggy you can crop them back real harsh.
Then I put equal soil and sand in black plastic pots (black is important because it keeps warmer) and poked little holes for the cuttings right up at the edge, where the soil is better drained. I know you're meant to take all the leaves off the stems but I was curious about what would happen if I left some on . . . so I left some on.
This plant is called Mother of Millions, isn't it good-looking? It is a prolific reproducer - each of those little points grows a tiny sort of bud which then drops to the ground and makes a new plant.I've been helping it out by putting the buds into pots - we'll see how they do.I've also been taking cuttings from geraniums. When they get all long and leggy you can crop them back real harsh. Then I put equal soil and sand in black plastic pots (black is important because it keeps warmer) and poked little holes for the cuttings right up at the edge, where the soil is better drained. I know you're meant to take all the leaves off the stems but I was curious about what would happen if I left some on . . . so I left some on.
Greenhouse
Dear friends, i was busying myself in a greenhouse yesterday and I was beyond happy - almost too happy. I quite wore myself out.
I'm learning more about plants, but quite slowly. I do know what I like though. I like this one:
All the succulents that look like rosettes are called Echevaria, but I don't know the name of this exact sort.
Only that it's incredibly beautiful and big.
I put it in a big pot in the hope that it might have a baby out it's bum . . . if you know what I mean.
I'm learning more about plants, but quite slowly. I do know what I like though. I like this one:
All the succulents that look like rosettes are called Echevaria, but I don't know the name of this exact sort.
Only that it's incredibly beautiful and big.
I put it in a big pot in the hope that it might have a baby out it's bum . . . if you know what I mean.
Oh bloomin 'eck
Look what I've gone and done! I've only packaged up those lantern slides ready to post off - about time too. Now I just need some addresses to put on them . . .
And the Super Spangly Prize Draw threw up these three people. So that's nice, email me your address (thetootblog@gmail.com) and I'll send them out. I'll like knowing that my little slides are heading to new homes.
Thanks.
And the Super Spangly Prize Draw threw up these three people. So that's nice, email me your address (thetootblog@gmail.com) and I'll send them out. I'll like knowing that my little slides are heading to new homes.
Thanks.
Gardening in the rain.
The nicest idea - succulents in tiered pots. Stolen from a friends garden visited today.
I've learnt all about taking cuttings and potting on - something to share with you soon.
Then a visit to a very nice nursery, with a very fine birdhouse . . .
. . . if this birdhouse could speak I reckon it would have a lisp, what do you think?
I've learnt all about taking cuttings and potting on - something to share with you soon.
Then a visit to a very nice nursery, with a very fine birdhouse . . .
. . . if this birdhouse could speak I reckon it would have a lisp, what do you think?
Pottery class
Today I began my pottery class and I bloody loved it. It was perfect to be in a grubby room surrounded by people's ceramic achievements, listening to folks nattering.
The ladies at the class were also something to behold - outgoing to say the least. It's the kind of class that people keep coming back to so they all know each other, which can be a drag, but these ladies were very welcoming. At one point they broke into a rendition of Land of Hope and Glory. Then another lady went ahead sang a whole Frank Sinatra song solo very loudly (and quite badly). Everyone just got on with their work so that's obviously normal.
Maybe I'll do a little solo song next week . . . with air guitar . . . and plenty of feeling.
I spoke to one lady at the end who reassured me 'Oh yeah, you've chosen the right class here, you'll like it' which was nice, only she followed it closely with 'I come for the banter, it's amazing'.
Normally when I go to a class I can't help but end-game, I spend weeks thinking about all the things I could make and then I start thinking I might sell them - ages before I've even made the bloody things. Then after I've made a whole edition and marketed and sold a few in my imagination I'm a bit bored with the idea.
So this time I just relaxed and had a proper play-about. I made pinch pots. Some I made with my eyes closed - which is a nice thing to do, very therapeutic - especially if you're being serenaded by a mad woman at the same time.
And I enjoyed poking skewers into clay too. I can't wait for next time.
The ladies at the class were also something to behold - outgoing to say the least. It's the kind of class that people keep coming back to so they all know each other, which can be a drag, but these ladies were very welcoming. At one point they broke into a rendition of Land of Hope and Glory. Then another lady went ahead sang a whole Frank Sinatra song solo very loudly (and quite badly). Everyone just got on with their work so that's obviously normal.
Maybe I'll do a little solo song next week . . . with air guitar . . . and plenty of feeling.
I spoke to one lady at the end who reassured me 'Oh yeah, you've chosen the right class here, you'll like it' which was nice, only she followed it closely with 'I come for the banter, it's amazing'.
Normally when I go to a class I can't help but end-game, I spend weeks thinking about all the things I could make and then I start thinking I might sell them - ages before I've even made the bloody things. Then after I've made a whole edition and marketed and sold a few in my imagination I'm a bit bored with the idea.
So this time I just relaxed and had a proper play-about. I made pinch pots. Some I made with my eyes closed - which is a nice thing to do, very therapeutic - especially if you're being serenaded by a mad woman at the same time.
And I enjoyed poking skewers into clay too. I can't wait for next time.
Repeatedly rescued.
I hate the saying 'It's not what you know it's who you know' - I think it was invented by people who manage to network at private views. Invented to spite those of us who prefer to stand by the nibbles - I normally only manage to ingratiate myself to the nearest bowl of peanuts.
But recently it seems I do know a lot of very fine people - many of whom are willing to stoop and pick me up when I've got myself in a stupid mess. Which is nice.
First Josh picked me up when I was ill and homeless, he fed me risotto and let me sit in his bed all day watching Ru Paul. Then Dale found me a place to stay real cheap. Then I thought my problems were getting to be manageable when I met my Mum for lunch at the Hare Krishna cafe. She told me that I was still ill and exhausted, I proved this point by getting teary into my highly nutritious spinach pie.
And finally, yesterday Jack drove all the way to my bedside to pick me up and take me to the seaside - he put up with my ruddy cheeked silence (interspersed with whinging) all the way. Once there I ate a medley of Gods creatures, cow, pig, crab, and slept a good twelve hours. Here I am doing a little rest and recuperation on the beach -
Whilst Jack frolicked in the waves. Cheery bastard.
We went to the hut, which I've been holidaying in since I was small.
It's a bit of a safe place, where everything feels ok, where you can do nothing without feeling bored.
We mooched up and down the beach, just doing the same small walk in between reading the papers and drinking tea.
Then around the harbour - where there are now neon green cables strung about, really zingy against the grey sky.
And on the way home Jack screeched the brakes on . . . a jumble sale. Hoop-de-hoop! We were just in time because as we waited the most enormous queue formed behind us. Hilarious.
Once in it was a case of finding an empty space at one of the long tables and try to edge along, looking real thoroughly as you go - if you come up against a stationary granny ask to swap places but be careful that in the act of swapping a crafty silver-haired bandit doesn't purloin your place. I've got jumbles down to an art, it's just a shame this one was slightly slim pickings.
Though I did also buy a glass of squash for ten-pence and won a special something on the raffle . . .
After the jumbling we stopped at Bury St Edmunds where I was so happy to find this old chap busking with his saw - tapping out a rhythm of boing sounds and singing in a low voice.
As much as I like London and all the culture it has to offer I felt a little reluctant to go back. It seems such a self-conscious place at times where anything wholesome is lorded up and priced appropriately. I know I enjoy the place and that it's good for my brain but actually there's something about winning a tin of peaches in a raffle that nourishes my soul.
But recently it seems I do know a lot of very fine people - many of whom are willing to stoop and pick me up when I've got myself in a stupid mess. Which is nice.
First Josh picked me up when I was ill and homeless, he fed me risotto and let me sit in his bed all day watching Ru Paul. Then Dale found me a place to stay real cheap. Then I thought my problems were getting to be manageable when I met my Mum for lunch at the Hare Krishna cafe. She told me that I was still ill and exhausted, I proved this point by getting teary into my highly nutritious spinach pie.
And finally, yesterday Jack drove all the way to my bedside to pick me up and take me to the seaside - he put up with my ruddy cheeked silence (interspersed with whinging) all the way. Once there I ate a medley of Gods creatures, cow, pig, crab, and slept a good twelve hours. Here I am doing a little rest and recuperation on the beach -
Whilst Jack frolicked in the waves. Cheery bastard.
We went to the hut, which I've been holidaying in since I was small.
It's a bit of a safe place, where everything feels ok, where you can do nothing without feeling bored.
We mooched up and down the beach, just doing the same small walk in between reading the papers and drinking tea.
Then around the harbour - where there are now neon green cables strung about, really zingy against the grey sky.
And on the way home Jack screeched the brakes on . . . a jumble sale. Hoop-de-hoop! We were just in time because as we waited the most enormous queue formed behind us. Hilarious.
Once in it was a case of finding an empty space at one of the long tables and try to edge along, looking real thoroughly as you go - if you come up against a stationary granny ask to swap places but be careful that in the act of swapping a crafty silver-haired bandit doesn't purloin your place. I've got jumbles down to an art, it's just a shame this one was slightly slim pickings.
Though I did also buy a glass of squash for ten-pence and won a special something on the raffle . . .
After the jumbling we stopped at Bury St Edmunds where I was so happy to find this old chap busking with his saw - tapping out a rhythm of boing sounds and singing in a low voice.
As much as I like London and all the culture it has to offer I felt a little reluctant to go back. It seems such a self-conscious place at times where anything wholesome is lorded up and priced appropriately. I know I enjoy the place and that it's good for my brain but actually there's something about winning a tin of peaches in a raffle that nourishes my soul.
You like toot!? I like toot.
Here are a few small bits, I also bought some big bits, including . . . a set of traffic lights. Sigh. Bit of a Beavis and Butthead moment - if I'd kept every wacky buy I made I could have dressed a million daytime quiz shows by now. Here are the bits I like best . . .
A pair of naive landscapes.
Really sweet. A whole lot of brass safety pins on their original cards.
A homemade crane.
A little bit of earthenware.
And a plume and bells for a funeral horse
As Rosalie and I drove home the bells were going 'tinkle tinkle' in the back of the car and after a while it felt a bit sinister, I wondered how many funerals they'd presided over . . . still, they'd look lovely on your mantelpiece!
A pair of naive landscapes.
Really sweet. A whole lot of brass safety pins on their original cards.
A homemade crane.
A little bit of earthenware.
And a plume and bells for a funeral horse
As Rosalie and I drove home the bells were going 'tinkle tinkle' in the back of the car and after a while it felt a bit sinister, I wondered how many funerals they'd presided over . . . still, they'd look lovely on your mantelpiece!
Americana
Hello stranger,
I haven't been about for a while - I've been lost in a fog but I've come out the other side with somewhere to live and feeling like I'm finally shifting the old illness. Today I'd like to share with you some beautiful things I've found. I will post them as links because embedding them makes for a funny setup.
Firstly, an incredibly beautiful video of Appalachian clog dancing.
And some of my favourite type of flat foot dancing, the slow and minimal type.
Learn to flat foot yourself with a charming southern gent.
And so very engrossing is the new online Alan Lomax archive. It's not all American but it's all very good, photos, sound recordings, videos. Go and have a noodle about, it made me all excited. I don't have anything profound to say about it - it's just such a treat to absorb the aesthetic and the feel of the times.
I haven't been about for a while - I've been lost in a fog but I've come out the other side with somewhere to live and feeling like I'm finally shifting the old illness. Today I'd like to share with you some beautiful things I've found. I will post them as links because embedding them makes for a funny setup.
Firstly, an incredibly beautiful video of Appalachian clog dancing.
And some of my favourite type of flat foot dancing, the slow and minimal type.
Learn to flat foot yourself with a charming southern gent.
And so very engrossing is the new online Alan Lomax archive. It's not all American but it's all very good, photos, sound recordings, videos. Go and have a noodle about, it made me all excited. I don't have anything profound to say about it - it's just such a treat to absorb the aesthetic and the feel of the times.
Made by my Dad when he was a child.
A clown made of Balsa wood and cloth.
A boat made of balsa wood with painted tissue paper sails.
A balsa wood man with fabric joints.
And a whole-head mask made of cane and . . . an awful lot of toilet paper.
Beautiful, frail, naive things with so much character.
A boat made of balsa wood with painted tissue paper sails.
A balsa wood man with fabric joints.
And a whole-head mask made of cane and . . . an awful lot of toilet paper.
Beautiful, frail, naive things with so much character.
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