Monthly Archives: June 2009

Giving ourselves a round of applause…!

Tallulah – a woman of a certain age who’s still got what it takes!

Just one last word on the nitty gritty of blogging before I get on with the pretty stuff. It’s been lovely getting comments from you all, thank you. I was taken aback this morning by the reaction of a friend of a similar age when I mentioned blogging. After her initial bafflement I suggested that if I gave her the site address she could have a look and see what I meant. ‘Oh, no,’ she said firmly. ‘I wouldn’t do it. I don’t use the computer. And my husband wouldn’t look either.’ Oooh, my turn to be baffled. I can’t imagine life without it now, but are we ladies of a certain age (and you know who I mean, girls) in the minority as we surf the net looking for our blogging fixes, Amazon book deliveries and Ebay bargains? If so, three cheers for us, for embracing and joining in with 21st century technology, and long may it continue!

Technology – and getting a grip on it!!

Second day of finding my way round all the technicalities of customising my blog and I’ve only snivelled once, and Tim only had to stay up until 1.30am this morning! But now I’m back on Planet Penny and I’ve brought my pink sheep along with me!

so much better than a pink elephant!

All Change!

Looks like I’ve said goodbye to Planet Penny by moving to WordPress but hopefully I am flying off and boldly going where I have never been before… I think it's called blue sky thinking?

St Lawrence Textile Centre

Great excitement yesterday when I was introduced to the St Lawrence Textile Centre in Norwich. Kit had kept me in the dark, just telling me I had to be prepared to be amazed. Oh I was! Only opening a few weeks ago it is situated in one of the many churches to be found all over Norwich. You walk in the door expecting the cool shadowy calm of an English church but are then confronted by a kaleidoscope of colour and texture and music which leaves you momentarily bemused. I met a wonderfully vibrant lady with a knitting machine who creates fabulous knitted garments which defy description. Imagine a scarf with amazing elastic qualities which can then become skirt, a dress or a hat, which is shocking pink and frilled with peacock coloured crochet… Each section between the pillars is rented by different talented textile and costume artist, their wares artfully displayed alongside vintage jewellery and shoes, old suitcases from which tumble felt hats and silk scarves, feathers and diamante, hanks of yarn and lengths of satin. I just wanted to move in and live there!

From Wayford Bridge to Pennygate

Now I know I’m not a Rambler! The prospect of a local walk, in the company of a ‘well known local naturalist’, a circular tour over the foot paths passing Barton Broad, culminating in a scrambled egg and smoked salmon breakfast sounded a pleasant way to spend Midsummer morning. Alas the leader of the group, far from being a naturalist, had obviously trained with a forty pound pack and rifle. He achieved an impressive speed, leaving anyone admiring a view or focusing a camera to follow the scorch marks on the ground. Like two naughty schoolgirls bunking off from Cross Country, Kit and I nipped off on a short cut, and found time to gaze at the view, photograph the flowers, grab a comfort stop as we passed her house, and be a cup of coffee ahead by the time the rest of the ‘regiment’ arrived at the restaurant.

And the wind blew…

I have an ‘Albertine ‘ rose which grows to the left of the garden doors. For about 48 weeks of the year it is an unwieldy thug, rampant and thorny, insinuating itself into other shrubs and trying to get into the house. It always redeems itself in June though, being smothered in blancmange pink blooms with a delicate scent. This year it’s been particularly lovely, and I’ve so enjoyed the fact it has tumbled round the window so I can see it from inside the house. I was so sad then, on drawing the curtains back one morning last week to find the previous nights storm had ripped the best part of it off the wall and it was lying in a soggy heap of slimy petals on the grass. Cut back and retied it will live to bloom another day, but it no longer frames my view into the garden. My only consolation was a vase of roses straight from a page of ‘Country Living’ which graced the dining table for a few days.