It’s been a mixed week. My motivation hasn’t been particularly good and I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed by things that shouldn’t be overwhelming. I’m putting it down to the fact that I am of a certain age, coupled with the ever present strangeness of our new world. I think the new rules regarding face coverings have unsettled me a little. It’s not that I disagree with them, I am just concerned about those of us who cannot wear them for whatever reason, being turned away from shops or public transport, or facing abuse from intolerant people. I am particularly concerned about people with hidden disabilities such as Autism who may be unable to wear masks or find masks on other people frightening and confusing. I have an adult child who lives independently for whom this is going to prove extremely difficult. I’m not sure how we will move forward with this, but it’s constantly on my mind.

Last weekend we took a long drive out into the country. My husband was keen to give the car a good run as it’s been mostly redundant during lockdown and I was glad of a change of scenery. We took a flask of coffee and a small picnic lunch, which we ate in a secluded layby in the middle of nowhere, before heading further into nowhere. Nowhere feels safest for me at the moment. My anxieties surrounding the pandemic are still very high and I find going out almost impossible. However, we stopped to look at the scenery a bit further on and I actually got out of the car. I stood for a few minutes looking towards Cumbria breathing the fresh cool air in as it blew from the west and wondering when I will be able to mentally manage a trip into the lakes. Not that I’m in any hurry to swamp the locals with tourists this summer. I imagine lakeland dwellers are a bit conflicted about the summer crowds returning this year. I do hope the tourism industry is able to operate fully but safely though, as the incomes it generates are so many people’s livelihoods.

Anyway, enough of the gloomy stuff. There have been some positives this week. Firstly, one of my children gained their BA Honours degree, of which I am extremely proud. It feels strange there not being a graduation to attend, and their end of year show (it was an arts degree) which they had put a lot of work into had to be cancelled, but on the whole there is a feeling of achievement and relief that it’s over, even if there is now apprehension about what happens next for them all.

Secondly I sold the little hearts picture I mentioned in my last post. I don’t usually like to talk about things selling as it feels a bit like bragging but this gave me a much needed lift during an otherwise grey week. Not even my second hand retail therapy could lift my mood this week! There were a few goodies worth noting but I will put them in a separate post.

So that was my week. Negatives and positives cancelling each other out and leaving a neutrality of mood. I will be more positive in my next post, I promise!

What a strange and emotional week I’ve had. We have been watching the 1970s series Upstairs Downstairs recently, one episode a night and on Wednesday evening we watched the final episode. I cried like a baby, first when my husband announced we were about to watch the last episode and again in response to various events on screen as it drew to a close. I cried again the night after when we sat down for the evening and it felt like there was a huge chasm left where life at 165 Eton Place used to be. Is it normal to feel like this after watching a TV series? I’ve watched my fair share of period drama but nothing has ever touched me the way this has. I felt as if I knew the characters personally and some of them I grew extremely fond of. I will miss Mrs Bridges and Mr Hudson the most I think. Proxy parents to the rest of the servants, they held everything steady and kept everything proper while maintaining an air of kindness and warmth, well most of the time anyway, perhaps it’s best not to think too much about how Mrs Bridges treated poor Ruby the kitchen maid!

I find myself totally immersed in that period of history, frustrated that our 1910 house bears little resemblance to it’s former self no thanks to it’s various owners over the past century. I would love to put it all back the way it was but we’re unlikely to ever have the sort of funds needed to take on such a task, so I shall have to find my Edwardian fix by watching Upstairs Downstairs on a loop and visiting Beamish.

In other news this week, I have been in receipt of some lovely ‘new to me’ things! Right at the beginning of the week I took delivery of this charming vintage french miniature chest of drawers from RubyTuesdaysLoft on Etsy. When I purchased them I wasn’t completely sure of where I was going to put them or what I was going to use them for but obviously they had to go on my desk somewhere and it soon became clear what they should be used for, a new home for my embroidery threads!

The postman also brought me a couple of Laura Ashley dresses from the 80s, a pair of worn old curtains made from Laura Ashley Nutmeg for my fabric stash, a vintage skirt that is likely to end up in the shop because it’s too small for me, and some old wooden coathangers just because. I feel like I’ve had a mini Christmas everyday this week, especially with all that red and green!

I’ve also managed to squeeze in a bit of stitching and found time to get some of these little hearts finished, framed and up for sale in the shop.

The new shop seems to be going well. Last week I finally closed my old one and began listing the cards in the new one. I studied the traffic statistics for my old shop and realised the majority of customers were from internal Etsy searches which means I am confident the same level of sales will continue. I’m sad that I have to say goodbye to all the lovely feedback past customers have left me but honestly it’s a small price to pay if it means a certain person can no longer attempt to contact me. There are some things that are better left in the past.

Once upon a time, not so long ago . . .

Sometimes I wonder why I favour old and worn over new and shiny when I was raised by a mother whose sole purpose in life seemed to be updating and replacing anything and everything from her shoes to the kitchen sink. She was the sort of person who would throw out a perfectly good handbag simply because she’d had it a couple of years. In contrast I still have and use the first bag I bought myself as an independent adult. I have nothing of my childhood because my mother had a habit of throwing out our things as soon as we had out grown them. I do however have an old child size shopping basket and a copy of Alice in Wonderland that belonged to my mother before they were passed on to me. The basket served as a peg basket when my first husband and I started out penniless and then later on it resumed it’s role as child’s play thing when the children came along. It lived on a shelf beside a shabby old wooden shape sorter I found in the Red Cross shop for 50p, a beautiful patchwork ball made of different tiny floral prints, also from a charity shop and a crudely made cloth doll I made on my trusty old 1920s Singer out of an old skirt I’d made in my teens. Those four items stirred something within me, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on until one evening, whilst doing our weekly supermarket shop with a toddler and a baby both sleeping soundly in the trolley, I stumbled across a Bagpuss VHS in the non foods aisle.

As the magic of Postgate and Firmin came flooding back from my childhood I suddenly understood why that little collection of things on the shelf made me feel the way they did. I adored Bagpuss as a child, but the memories of watching it had themselves become saggy and a bit loose at the seams, not enough to have faded completely, but enough to leave little ghost memories. It was these faint barely there memories that were being brought to the surface by the collection of shabby old toys on the shelf and from that moment on Bagpuss was very much back in my life. Had I called my eldest daughter Emily because of one of those faded out childhood memories? I can never be sure but one has to wonder and little did I know that seventeen years later my love of Bagpuss would bring me and my second husband together, and that I would end up meeting Sandra Kerr who did the music and was the voice of Madeleine the rag doll and most of the mice.

My daughter with Sandra Kerr and the original cushion from the Owl of Athens episode.

But I can’t let dear old Baggy take all the credit for my love of all things old, faded and handmade. Some of the other childhood programmes I watched had also left little ghosts of memory working away in the background. The Flumps and Fingerbobs both helped nurture a sense of resourcefulness, while things like Ivor the Engine and Camberwick Green simply helped me form a love of old worldness, a fondness of simpler times gone by. I always had a sense that the world moved too fast as a child, and even now I often reach for Bagpuss as an antidote to 21st century living. Nothing beats singing along to the Bony King of Nowhere or getting lost in a story about a Hamish or dear old Uncle Feedle in his cloth world ‘all sewn up with a needle’. Oh to live in a patchwork cloth world!

I hesitate to mention Pipkins. It seems to divide people in conversation when reminiscing in our social circle. Usually it divides me from everyone else because I loved the scruffy old hare and his friends but everyone else just remembers Hartley as mangey and slightly sinister. What can I say, maybe my weirdness radar doesn’t work as well as everyone elses?

I am convinced the programmes we watch as small children shape our lives in ways we aren’t always aware of. I’m just glad I was lucky enough to experience what I consider to be the golden era of children’s television and grateful that enough of it was later released on VHS and DVD so I could enjoy the magic all over again with my own children.

From play thing to peg basket to play thing to sewing basket!