words and pictures

Some happier stuff...

ningloreth — Sun, 17 Oct 2021 14:29:43 GMT

I mentioned a few weeks ago that, during the various Lockdowns, I'd taken up two new hobbies...

One is learning Polish with Duolingo.

Polish isn't a language. Polish is a relentless mental torture. But I keep telling myself that a) I know a lot more Polish now than I did before I started, 430-ish days ago, and that b) it's just a matter of keeping going. Just keep going. It's not like I'm taking an A Level and have a deadline. Every word, every phrase, every time I get the ending right... everything I manage to learn is a bonus. Plus, I do get ridiculously happy when I'm looking at a Polish website, or at the label on my Polish hat or my Polish pottery, or I'm watching a Polish TV series on All4, and I actually understand something!! Like this:

Niedźwiedź to nie Miś

which is from the Tatra National Park and, according to me, means 'A bear is not a teddy bear' (very good advice), or, according to Google translate, 'A bear is not a bear' (not particularly good advice).

One weird thing is that, although it has all of those scary strings of consonants, I almost find it easier to spell in Polish than in English because Polish spelling is very regular. Everything else about it, though, is bloody complicated.

The other new hobby is needle felting.

Ages ago, I bought this book by a Japanese lady called trikotri, because it's absolutely lovely.

(It's relevant, I think, that trikotri is Japanese, because only a Japanese person could do something so disciplined with such a light touch, and make the whole thing look so effortless).

Anyway, as usual, it took me a few months of stalling before I finally got round to buying all the wool, the string, the eyes, the glues (two sorts), the pom pom makers, the felting tools, etc, etc, I needed, and started making animals. Trikotri uses very little needle felting; most of her shaping is done using scissors, with just a little bit of felting to stiffen the snout. I made one -- one -- pluszowy miś following her instructions:

(and I'm very proud of him -- he's really soft and cuddly) but then I sort of branched out on my own.

I'm much more heavy handed than trikotri, so my designs entail a lot of shaping by needle!

What I like about felting is that it's a bit like pencil drawing: you start with a blank piece of paper (or foam pad), you make 2-dimensional marks (or use 2-dimensional strands of wool), and something 3-dimensional gradually emerges. But I find it quite difficult to think in three dimensions, so it's pretty much a case of stab-stab-stab-stab-stab until I get what I want. (I do stab my own fingers quite a lot. And I have, on at least one occasion, stabbed my knee).

Here are some of my earlier ones, which still stick fairly close to trikotri's patterns but are much more heavily worked:

The sheep was for a sheep-collecting friend who was going into hospital for an operation. You can see trikotri's lovely, effortless version at the bottom left of the first picture.

The cat was a birthday present for my sister-in-law, hence the box. I used a photo of her cat as inspiration.

Three stages of a red panda -- not entirely happy with how he turned out...

Here are some rather more adventurous ones, done directly from photos of the animals:

When I took the picture, the hammy was still missing his ears!

The first picture of the elephant shows how strange he looked when his trunk was the correct length relative to his head!

And here is my latest thing, felt brooches/badges:

I still need to attach the backs.

My designer-brother, P2, is helping organise another Christmas Cornucopia, at the end of November, so I'm hoping to sell some there... P2 has designed me a really nice logo -- I've always like the idea of Cabbages and Kings as a name for an art/craft business -- and he's mocked up a picture of the finished product.

...

After the Christmas Cornucopia, assuming it goes ahead, we're hoping to go to Krakow for a few days.

P2 and his wife have just got back from Krakow, and it was reasonably straightforward. They had to go into various offices to sign things relating to their property there -- which was the reason they couldn't put off the trip any longer -- but, otherwise, they stayed outdoors as much as they could and, of course, they did lots and lots of tests, which all proved negative.

If we are able go, I don't plan to say anything in Polish, but I will be listening to every word and reading every sign!

...

You know how new fandoms have a habit of sneaking up on you? And then you can't work out exactly how or when it happened? Well, I'm suddenly obsessed with Kylo Ren and his ~~beautiful face~~ complicated psyche. (I’m always way behind the curve). And if there was ever a character who needed his story arc -- his story sine-wave -- sorting out in fanfic...

He keeps throwing tantrums because he wants me to write about him, but, until this morning, I was reasonably safe because, although I don't by any means dislike Rey, and there's a lot of interesting stuff going on in their relationship, she didn't speak to me in the way that Eowyn, Hermione, or Charlotte Wells do. But last night I watched two excellent YouTube videos discussing the psychology of Kylo Ren, Rey and their relationship, and this morning I woke up with a conversation in my head, in which they each explore the other's body -- and share their previous experience of sex. (In case you're wondering, Kylo has had quite a lot of fairly superficial physical experience, and Rey has only seen things but is rather less repressed).

It's bad, bad, bad, because amongst all the crap that's been going on, I've actually started writing again! I've finally got back to my current WIP, after having being blocked for two years, so I must finish that before I start on anything else. I got a huge new lease of life when I randomly selected a spot on a 1754 map of London, and discovered that the alleyway I'd chosen for my kidnapping was called 'Dirty Lane' -- seriously! -- and led not to one but to two timber yards*, which Mr Haxby and Charlotte will be visiting in the next chapter, with Charlotte -- very disturbingly, as far as Haxby's concerned -- disguised as a beautiful young man (again)...

*Cue lots of research into the mid-18th century timber trade, furniture making, and the navy. I'm happy.

...

The other day, I was thinking about the little dog I sponsor, Seamus, and how he must be getting quite old now... Then -- honestly, it seemed like less than a minute later! -- the post came with a letter from Dog's Trust. I tore it open, and out fell a 'certificate' and pictures of a new dog, called Fudge.

It took me a good few moments to pluck up the courage to read the letter, but it turns out that Seamus has been adopted. Fudge lives a long way away, at Dog's Trust, Evesham, but he can't be visited anyway, so that's OK.

Sooty and Sweep

ningloreth — Wed, 03 Feb 2021 10:16:32 GMT

Do you remember Sooty and Sweep? They were a sort of soft toy version of Laurel and Hardy.

I still love Sooty's body language :-)

And it seems they're still going strong, though I should imagine they're a bit less anarchic these days.

As a toddler, I had a very special relationship with Sooty because my cot mattress was decorated with little images of him (basically being naughty) so, to me, he was somehow mine, but he was on TV! I don't think my parents ever worked out why I kept pulling back the bottom bedsheet.

They never bought me a Sooty puppet, but I did have a Sweep.

And this is how my mind works, especially under Lockdown: I'm thinking about my childhood > I remember my Sweep puppet > I remember losing him walking to my grandma's house > I remember how upset I was, and start to feel sorry for my younger self > {I have a light bulb moment!} > I check out whether Amazon sells Sweep puppets...

A few moments later, a Sweep puppet and a Sooty puppet (because two don't cost much more than one) are on their way to me!

I should really have been born a millennial.

So here is my very own Sooty puppet, filmed with my right hand while my left hand is, er, encouraging him to move:

And here's the true hero of the story, Sweep:

(Not sure what he's saying; maybe he's complaining about the cold).

...

Still no gas, but I think I'm getting used to the lower temperature. And I've found a good way to warm the kitchen up a bit -- run the tumble dryer every so often!

If I had a camel, I think its back would be broken...

ningloreth — Mon, 01 Feb 2021 20:04:33 GMT

I'm sorry I haven't been posting or commenting much recently. I've been too fed up, but I do read my flist daily, and I do know how everyone's doing: we're all abiding, as manoah says.

At New Year, I started writing a 'review' of 2020, basing it on the photos I'd taken, but I gave up because it was so boring. Anyone want to see the new slippers I got on 7 July? Anyone?!

I'm still planning to post some of the more interesting bits, including the story of my epic trip to the Beardsley exhibition, in London, last August, which was like being in an episode of The Walking Dead -- actually, more like World War Z, because they moved so fast -- but in the meantime...

About ten days ago, I thought I noticed a faint smell of gas in the cupboard under the hob. (It's where I keep the saucepans, so I usually open it several times a day). A couple of days later, the smell seemed a bit stronger so I went online and ordered one of these

from Amazon Prime. (And, I have to say, it's my new favourite toy ;-)

When it arrived, I decided that the tester itself was probably quite safe -- that is, untouched by human hands for some time -- so I tipped it out of its packaging, washed my hands, fitted some batteries, and set about testing for gas. You have to switch it on in a 'clean' environment -- meaning gas free, I presume -- so I switched it on in the sitting room, carried it through the dining room, where it started to buzz, then poked it into the cupboard under the hob, where it went berserk.

I phoned British Gas, and they sent two blokes to investigate.

The two blokes found a leak in the joint between the pipework and the hob and quickly repaired it but, when they tested the gas flow again, they 'got a fall of three millibars', which, in English, apparently means they'd detected another small leak. Since they were the Emergency Squad, 'all they could do' was cut off the gas, tell me I needed to find myself a GasSafe Engineer, and helpfully give me a web address to aid me in the search.

I phoned my brother, P1, who is in the building trade, and he recommended two companies. The first could do nothing for two weeks, the second sent a ~~young lad~~ GasSafe Engineer round two days later. He immediately found the leak -- remember that faint buzz in the dining room? --

YOUNG LAD: How old was the other engineer?
ME: About fifty.
YOUNG LAD: If I know a boiler like this has a pilot light, he has no excuse!

It turned out that my boiler, being over forty years old, has a problem with its pilot light and a slight leak in its 3-way valve, and that new parts must be ordered...

The young lad cut off -- as in chopped off -- the valve, and blocked the end of the pipe, then turned the gas back on, which restored the hob but not the heating nor the hot water.

So now everything is cold. Everything. The air's cold, the walls are cold, the floor's cold through my famous slippers, the teddies are cold to the touch, EVERYTHING is cold! Water from the tap is icy cold! It hurts to wash my hands!!

My home is like Elsa's palace without the pretty blue.

And, to be honest, with no hot water for washing up, the hob isn't much use. I have learned the best way to wash up using water from a kettle, though:

1. Stand your pots in the sink.
2. Squirt some washing up liquid into each pot.
3. Pour boiling water into each pot.
4. Boil more water.
5. Pour boiling water into each pot.
6. Boil more water.
7. Pour boiling water into each pot.
8. Boil more water... etc, etc.
9. Add some cold water to each pot to avoid scalding yourself.
10. Wash each pot.
11. Repeat steps 3 - 9 to rinse.

(Trust me, if you pour the boiling water straight into the sink, it just goes cold).

At Christmas, I'd decided to keep my decorations up until Candlemas because I thought I still needed something cheerful about the place, and I was planning to take them down at the weekend but, instead, I spent the mornings in bed under a duvet and some blankets, and the rest of the time sitting in front of a draughty fan heater, wrapped in a rather nice poncho

(also from Amazon) and some Christmas throws. The decorations will just have to wait until the house is warmer.

The gas company is going to phone me when they know more about the parts (which, unfortunately, means I'm having to answer, and check out, all the nuisance calls I normally just ignore). If I haven't heard anything by Wednesday, I'm supposed to chase them.

But the cold isn't the worst thing.

The worst thing is that I'm already a bit anxious when P1 (who's my support bubble but also supports several other people*) comes to help me with a minor emergency. Over the past week, I've had to let three strangers -- two of them, it has to be said, with quite sketchy ideas of what social distancing means -- into the house for long periods. And, of course, there will be more coming. It's proved to me that feeling safe and comfortable in the presence of at least one other human being is an absolutely basic human need, on a par with needing food and water, and acts as an anchor for your interactions with the rest of humanity.

*Bless P1, it's because he can't say no to anyone, but I don't think he realises how risky it is.

Please God, let the gas problem be fixed on the next visit.

If I had a camel, I think its bloody back would be broken.

(Famous last words, of course).

My Lovely Horse... er, Little Stone Tool

ningloreth — Mon, 20 Jul 2020 11:20:57 GMT

(I recently watched the Eurovision episode of Father Ted ;-)

I've been lurking in the shadows for the past few months, too down in the dumps (for various reasons) to shape myself and post anything, but I have been doing some FutureLearn courses -- The Art of Washi Paper in Japanese Rare Books; The Living Picture Craze: An Introduction to Victorian Film; Preserving Norweigian Stave Churches; Walter Scott: The Man Behind the Monument; Exploring Japanese Avant-garde Art Through Butoh Dance*; Pictures of Youth (children's book illustration, etc); The Tudors; Many Faces: Understanding the Complexities of Chinese Culture; Modern Sculpture; and... Homo Floresiensis Uncovered (the hobbit!) -- and, at the weekend, in an attempt to help a fellow Learner see the difference between a core tool and a flake tool, I took some pictures of my Lovely Little Stone Tool.

* Maybe the strangest stuff I've ever seen, reaching deep into the parts of Japanese culture I might never have wanted to know about. There was some interesting early 20th century Japanese painting worth exploring, though.

Then I thought some of my f-list might like to see my Lovely Little Stone Tool, too.

I found it amongst some gravel that had been spread along the riverbank at Ely. Assuming I've read the textbooks right, it's called a 'burin', made (I learned at the weekend) by a process called 'burination', where the maker strikes flakes off the edge of a stone core. On the ventral or interior surface (the bit that's originally inside the stone core), the shock waves create a bulb of percussion -- a rounded swelling -- which you can see at the bottom (in the picture below), followed by a series of ripples. It was finding a bulb of percussion that originally convinced me it was a genuine tool, though I'm now beginning to wonder whether it's actually the result of a modern experiment, because it's all so fresh and sharp. The edges are so thin they're almost translucent.

This is the dorsal surface, which would have been on the outside of the core.

You can see where two earlier flakes have been struck off, and I think those are the 'sockets of percussion' -- not sure if that's really a thing! -- left behind when the flakes broke away, at the bottom left and (not quite as visible in the photo) at the bottom right.

It's 6cm high, just under 3cm at its widest, and about 0.5cm at its thickest, and it fits very nicely in my hand.

I love it, so I do hope it's genuinely ancient!

Useful Tips for Coping with Isolation

ningloreth — Mon, 13 Apr 2020 15:22:22 GMT

My brother (P2) sent me another video, which makes me laugh every time I watch it, so I thought it might make other people happy, too!

Pinky and Perky have a new home!

ningloreth — Wed, 08 Apr 2020 11:01:13 GMT

Pinky's the lighter coloured one, Perky's the darker one with the bigger tail.

It's very different from the old one, wider and less deep, and I don't like it as much -- so far -- but the fishes seem happy. They particularly enjoy playing in the bubble streams, which seem stronger in the new tank. I was worried about having to disconnect the bubble-thingy from the pump to feed the tube through the hole in the new lid, because there's a valve in the tubing that's always been a bit dodgy, but maybe turning it off and on again has fixed it ;-)

Moving two fish and 60 litres of water from one tank to another took an hour and a half and (eventually) three Muck Buckets -- it turns out I can only lift 30 litres of water at a time! -- a set of Ikea steps, a plastic mixing bowl, a washing up brush, a salad spoon, three saws -- none of them any good -- part of a children's play mat -- because the new tank doesn't have a proper base like the old one -- some effing useless siphon tube, a very large quantity of kitchen towel, and some surprisingly impressive moves on my part.* I was expecting to be totally crippled today but, so far, all is good apart from a tiny cut on my thumb.

*I'm not slim, fit, and flexible any more, like I was when I used to do Jane Fonda's Advanced Workout, Callenetics, and Cher's Resistance Band Workout -- sometimes one after the other -- but it seems I still know all the moves, and I think Jane Fonda would have been proud if she'd seen me balancing on one foot and lifting the other high over the piles of boxes blocking my way to the play mat, which was, of course, in the very farthest corner of the extremely full box room. I was like a fat Catherine Zeta-Jones working her way through the laser beams.

When I ordered the tank, I also ordered one of those photographic backgrounds and... a Chinese dragon!

Isn't he lovely? He's coming on Friday.

The background was supposed to arrive before the tank, but the tank was three days early. I don't know if I'll be able to slide it into place somehow. If not, the fishes will have to do without.

...

My brother sent me this video:

I'm just hoping 'my' cats don't see it and get ideas.

Guess Who?

ningloreth — Mon, 06 Apr 2020 08:47:02 GMT

The picture really doesn't do it justice -- the little sod was looking to left and right, with the wind ruffling its fur, as though it was being (very slowly) chauffeured past an adoring crowd.

MY FISH TANK IS LEAKING!

ningloreth — Sun, 05 Apr 2020 21:48:44 GMT

Can you believe it? Poor Pinky and Perky are living on borrowed time.

It's the kind of minor emergency I find very hard to deal with on my own -- something to do with having no one to bounce ideas off.

The water's only seeping out at the moment, but it's obviously not going to get any better, so last night I stuffed kitchen towel into the breach and went to bed thinking, "I have two and a half options. I can

Order a new tank from Amazon (£100-ish for one the same size as the tank I have now, £200-£300 for a nice big one).

See if my brother has a spare tank and can lend it to me (plus the half option: try to repair my own tank once it's empty)."

I phoned P1 this morning and he said, "No problem, but it's been in the loft for about eight years and it'll be very dusty." (He wasn't kidding!) He also said that repairing my tank will involve cutting away the old silicone, which is probably best left until after Lockdown because ~~I'm likely to cut my own hand off~~ there'll be two of us to tackle it.

He brought his tank down from the loft and put it outside for me to pick up. However, as he pointed out from a distance of about 12 feet when I collected it, it's very small -- maybe half the volume of mine, which is already (allegedly) too small for two strapping goldfish. He suggested I could leave the plants and toys out to maximise the space, but I think that would be a very boring way for Pinky and Perky to spend the next six months, especially since they seem to graze on the algae that grows on the 'plants'.

So... feeling very guilty, I've ordered the £100 tank from Amazon, which should arrive on Good Friday, and, in the meantime, I've given P1's tank a good clean so that it's ready, should there be a sudden Tsunami, for the fish to surf out of their own tank and into temporary accommodation.

Waaaah, the Zombie Apocalypse, and the flight to Vancouver

ningloreth — Thu, 02 Apr 2020 22:13:08 GMT

I've been trying to post something for ages but, until the cat incident, everything I wrote seemed to turn into "Waaaaaaah, I hate being on my own!"

You have to bear in mind that I've already lived alone for 21 years, 7 months, and... 6 days and, because I work from home at least four days a week (and have done so for the past eleven years), I've often gone a week without speaking to anyone, except perhaps the postman if he's knocked on the door, so you might think that Lockdown would be plain sailing for me, but it's totally stripped me of my normal coping strategies, which are a) to go out shopping and b) to tell myself, "Never mind, on x, I'll be meeting y and we'll be doing z," which always helps, even when x is a really long way in the future.

I am so relieved that my mum and dad -- especially my mum, who had an Olympic gold medal in worrying -- aren't having to go through this. (To be honest, I think the only answer would have been to move in with them).

Thinking about it, though, I've spent my entire life preparing for a zombie apocalypse.

As of this morning, I have 31 rolls of toilet paper (which is a good 15 fewer than I would normally have, but I've been valiantly fighting the need to get my stocks back up to the proper level); I have enough toothpaste and mouthwash to last several months and enough soap for a year; I have 14 bottles of water (plus quite a lot of San Pellegrino) and about 10 bottles of vodka (but I never drink alcohol on my own); I have a freezer full of veggie 'meat' and, bizarrely, several packets of frozen peas; and this is an up-to-date inventory of my cans collection:

It's hereditary. My grandad had a storage pit under the floor of his lean-to, filled with cans of food and bottles of pop, ready for World War III. When my dad passed away, we found -- amongst other things -- 15 bottles of washing up liquid stacked neatly in the utility room, and five bags of Fox's Glacier fruits hidden in his sock drawer. (He was diabetic).

On Sunday, I put on several pairs of big girl's pants and went shopping for the first time since the Lockdown. (The pants were needed because I always get mega stressed when there are New Rules to follow). I timed things so that I arrived at Asda about 10 mins before they opened and, although the queue was long, I only had to wait a further 10 mins to get in (though when I came out there was no queue at all!). I got all the essentials -- just one pack of toilet paper, a few veg, a make-do present for my niece's birthday...

Somewhere between leaving the shop and unpacking the car, I managed to lose the wrapping paper...

...and enough chocolate and crisps to last a sane person for, well, I was going to say a month but maybe I should say six months, and me for about two weeks. If I'm really careful.

Now I'm worried that a psycho with a barbed wire-covered baseball bat will send his followers to take my chocolate from me.

...

Something I did buy in a panic just before the Lockdown is Pinky and Perky:

I was intending to call them Marcello and Rodolpho, my go-to names for fishes, but they don't look remotely Italian. Perky's the one with the fancier tail, naturally.

I've had tropical fish for years but they're so fragile, and when kazzy_cee mentioned that she was getting some goldfish I thought, "What a good idea!" So my brother and I cleaned out the tank, I bought some new plastic plants and toys, and I set it all up, meaning to leave it empty for three weeks or so to mature, but when it became clear, after only two weeks, that shops were going to be closing, I couldn't face the prospect of months with an empty tank, so I jumped in the car and went to the local garden centre. The woman didn't want to sell me two goldfish, because, she said, you need 50 litres of water per fish. I didn't point out that they had about twenty fish in a 75 litre tank; I pointed out that the fish were currently very small, then I put my hand on my heart and swore that when they've doubled in size I will buy them a bigger tank, and she relented.

Pinky and Perky seem to have settled in nicely.

And I've always wanted a bigger tank, anyway.

...

I've also wanted an iPhone for ages. Every year, the company I work for sells off its old iPhones, usually on a first come-first served basis (so, of course, I always miss out) but this year by lottery so, of course, I missed out. Again. Even though it was on my birthday. Of course.

After a bit of upsetness, I thought, "I'm just going to buy a new one!"

So now I can take pictures with my wonderful iPhone 6S. It's an old model -- actually older than the ones they were selling off at work -- but it's a new phone, from Argos, and I love it to bits for its camera and camera apps, though I haven't yet got round to getting a SIM card for it.

I took it to Vancouver in February (which seems like a lifetime ago now), so expect to be bombarded over the next week or so with pictures of Vancouver, the Vancouver Canucks, and experiments with various photography apps :-)

The Flight Out...

I always pay extra for a window seat on the flight out because, if the weather conditions are good, the view is spectacular, and this year my iPhone did a pretty good job of capturing it -- the software that realises you're looking through the glass and want to photograph what you're seeing is amazing!

Two and a half hours into the flight and (according to my iPhone), we're flying over Norðurþing on the west coast of Iceland:

Iceland! One day, I must visit it properly.

Another two hours, and we're somewhere so remote, Apple doesn't even know its name, but I think it's somewhere in Greenland:

Sometimes -- maybe when we take a more northerly route -- the sky turns a pale lilac. This time it stayed deep blue, but we could still see the moon:

Apparently, the Inuit don't have fifty words for snow. They have qanik, which means 'snow in the air', and aput, which means 'snow on the ground', plus -- according to the same book! -- they have words like nutaryug (meaning 'new stuff') and muruaneq (meaning 'stuff you always sink into'), which are not related to the word 'snow' but are used to describe it. In fact, they seem have about the same number of words for snow and snow-related weather as we do, which, given all the different types of snow you can see from the air, is really hard to believe!

Seven hours in, and we're passing this isolated town -- I think the cross-shape must be an airport:

Another half-hour, and we seem to be heading back towards civilisation, assuming that the chequerboard bits are fields:

According to Apple, this is Clear Hills County, Alberta:

And Peace River in Northern Sunrise County, Alberta:

At last, liquid water! I think we're more or less on the border between Alberta and British Columbia, and I think the grey mouldy-looking stuff is trees.

Now we've reached the ocean, and we're turning to make our approach into Vancouver. Beneath us is Bowen Island Ecological Reserve, and I chose this picture for the little ship with its impressive wake:

You can also see my flowered top ;-)

Our first glimpse of Vancouver but, sod's law, it's the wrong bit -- normally, we come in from further north, and fly over Downtown, where I'll be staying.

Here's the shadow of the plane as we're coming in to land:

And, about an hour and a half after landing, this is the view from my bedroom window :-)

Those damned cats!

ningloreth — Wed, 01 Apr 2020 15:00:03 GMT

A while ago, someone reported me to the RSPCA for neglecting my cats. (I may even have found the person who did it because, one night (before the Lockdown), a woman hammered on the door and said, "That cat is crying with cold and hunger!" to which I replied, "It's not my cat!" And, when I mentioned that someone had reported me to the RSPCA for neglect even though it's not my cat, she may have looked a bit sheepish... or that might just have been my imagination).

Anyway, that isn't the point of this story.

The point of this story is that, in addition to not having a cat, I have never had any birds in my back 'garden'.

When I first moved into the house, I bought a bird feeding station, and mithered* my brother until he gave in and drilled a big hole through the paving stones so we could install it, but no birds ever came, and the feeding station gradually became somewhere to hang decorations.

*A good northern dialect word, meaning to make a fuss, to moan, to bother someone.

I don't know why it's all so yellowy...

At night, with fairy lights!

This morning, though, I noticed a suspicious number of feathers near the plastic guinea pigs.

And then I found the remains of a blackbird behind the Christmas tree.

Most of the bird's been eaten, so it wasn't killed for sport, but I can't help being pissed off that a cat can somehow get a bird into my garden when I can't even lure one in with food!

Plus, the other day, when I was sitting working (with the back door propped open to let in some air), I heard a noise that sounded exactly like a cat sharpening its claws on the carpet...

I chased the little bugger back outside, where it stood its ground, looking daggers at me.

Here's a very dark picture of its pal, sporting a similar expression after I shooed it away from the dustbin:

They're bloody terrors!

I'm a Finger Puppet Millionaire!

ningloreth — Sat, 30 Nov 2019 18:04:58 GMT

Well, a £61-aire.

But that's at least £61 more than I ever expected!

About two months ago, my brother, P2, who lives in a picturesque little village in Huntingdonshire, told me that his wife, K, was organising a 'Christmas Cornucopia'. Here's the rather smart flyer he designed to promote it:

(The picture's a bit distorted because I had to screencap it from Skype).

On Sundays during the summer, K and her friends run a cycle cafe in the village hall, selling sandwiches, coffee, and amazing cakes to people in lycra, and they wanted to raise some money to improve the kitchen. They planned to have 12 stalls, plus Tombola, a raffle, and their cafe, and P2 asked if I wanted to put some items on their stall.

So I set to work, and made 21 finger puppets, including Santas, Rudolfs, Snowmen, and Angels:

Plus 10 teddies, with a choice of scarf or Christmas jumper:

I charged £1 extra for a jumper, because they're quite a lot of work! (I'm particularly pleased with the Christmas tree motif, which I copied from a picture of traditional Scandinavian gloves, though it's come out a bit wonky on the green jumper).

Here they are, all packed up and ready for their big adventure:

Here's a picture of the hall, just before we opened:

And here's our stall:

My sister-in-law painted the scarves, made the gnomes, and designed the reindeer's heads, which have two electric tealights on a bracket at the back, and glow when mounted on a wall; my brother made the cards from photographs he'd taken of the local churches; and my puppets and teddies are at the front -- here's a close-up :-)

(I don't know what possessed me to make a Manchester City scarf! The lady who bought the grey teddy asked P2 to swap it for another).

We opened at 2.00 and the hall was packed all afternoon. By about 3.30, the Tombola had run out of prizes, and by the time we closed at 5.00, the cafe had been stripped bare! With the stall fees, the Tombola, the raffle and the cafe, K and her friends made almost £1000 for the village hall.

And I have three very special £20 notes in my purse that, so far, I cannot bring myself to spend!

The remaining puppets will fit nicely into some crackers for the Christmas dinner table.

Now I need to finish the hat I'm making for my great nephew, little M:

...

The power supply for my 12-year-old-plus Windows XP laptop -- the only computer that will still run my favourite graphics program -- finally failed. I ordered a replacement on Amazon Prime, and it's just arrived but I need to pluck up more courage before I dare plug it in. Just in case.

I did buy the latest version of the program, which is allegedly compatible with Windows 10, but a) it's flaky & keeps crashing, and b) they've 'improved' it so much, it no longer does what I want it to do :-(

Sod's Law or Adventures in Northern Climes (with Computer Simulation)

ningloreth — Sat, 15 Jun 2019 11:54:44 GMT

I recently took a FutureLearn course called Radical Spirituality, about George Fox and the beginnings of Quakerism. In 1652, Fox, 'moved of the Lord', climbed up Pendle Hill, which, he said,

Click to see panoramic view by Joe Haythornthwaite.

'I did with much ado, it was so very Steep and High. When I was come to the Top of this Hill, I saw the Sea bordering upon Lancashire: And from the Top of this Hill the Lord let me see, in what Places he had a Great People to be gathered... At Night we came to an Inn... Here the Lord opened unto me, and let me see a Great People in white Raiment by a River-side, coming to the Lord: And the Place that I saw them in, was about Wentzerdale and Sedbergh.'

So he walked to Sedbergh,

where he preached from a tree in the churchyard and, on the following Sunday, preached again to hundreds of people on Firbank Fell.

From there he walked to Ulverston,

Picture from the 'Visit Ulverston' website ;-)

where he interrupted a church service in typical early Quaker fashion, standing upon his seat and preaching until he was evicted, and then he continued preaching in the graveyard. What he said had such an impact upon a local woman, Margaret Fell, she later described how 'it cut me to the heart ... I sat me down in my pew again, and cried bitterly.' The Puritan minister told her husband, Thomas Fell, that his wife had been bewitched. Fortunately, though Thomas never converted to Quakerism himself, he stood by Margaret. Their home, Swarthmoor Hall, near Ulverston, became the headquarters of the Quaker movement, and Margaret Fell's pastoral, theological, and administrative skills proved crucial to its success.

Pendle Hill (also famous for its witches) is less than an hour's drive from where I live, Sedbergh is England's Book Town, and Ulverston is where I spent many ~~happy~~ family holidays as a teenager, so I thought it would be 'fun' to go on a little pilgrimage, following Fox's route (by car).

Then I thought, "I could take my brother and sister-in-law..."

[My brothers are fraternal twins. P1 was born 20 minutes before P2. He's married to T and lives about 10 minutes' walk from me. P2 is married to K and lives near Cambridge. A few months ago, P2 + K were supposed to be coming to stay with me, but P2 phoned at the last minute to explain that they would have to cancel because of something work related, and asked whether I could go to stay with them instead. I had already sterilised the house from top to bottom, bought in enough food for an army, etc, etc, but I said, "Of course." Then I phoned P1 to let him know that P2 wouldn't be visiting. A few minutes later, P1 phoned back to ask whether I would mind if he and T came with me to P2's. I have been driving for almost 35 years, but you could count the total number of passengers I've had in my car... well, certainly on your hands and feet (and that includes taking a car full of writerconners to Kenilworth Castle), so I'm always a bit nervous when I have passengers, but I said, "Yes," (at a much higher pitch than normal). Still, it turned out that having other people in the car (all of us eating chocolate) was fun, even when the fog was so bad we almost missed the turning from the A1 onto the M62, so...]

I thought, "I could take my brother and sister-in-law!"

We decided on a date, I booked a day's holiday, I made some delicious veggie pate (see recipe below), a quiche, rice salad, potato salad, Bakewell tart (for the first time; I'll cook it a bit longer next time) -- in short, I made enough food for two armies -- I bought some folding chairs, because you can't have a picnic without folding chairs (though I did draw the line at buying a Thermos flask), I packed everything in the car, and I went to pick up P1, T, and little M (my great nephew).

Unfortunately, little M had not been so well during the night, so P1 + T -- being considerate people -- had decided that, given I'd not only taken a day's holiday but would undoubtedly have cooked enough food for two armies, P1 would go with me and T would stay at home with little M, though she'd keep in regular contact with us by text.

...begin computer simulation...

It didn't take us long to throw away the maps I'd printed out but, eventually, P1's phone got us to the foot of Pendle Hill. Apparently, there's a local saying: "If you can see Pendle, it's about to rain; if you can't see Pendle, it's already raining."

We couldn't stop, because there was nowhere safe to park, so we turned north and set off for Sedbergh. Some time later, having driven round in a big circle, and been at least twice down some of the most hair-raising roads I've ever seen,

we turned north again and, eventually, we got there.

We had our picnic in the car.

Then we went into several of the bookshops (though we never found the really big one because we were both wearing glasses). Being a joiner (or a carpenter, depending on which part of the country you come from), P1 bought a book about the de Havilland Mosquito (a WW2 bomber that was designed to be built in wood by furniture companies like Parker Knoll), and I bought a book on the history of writing. I also bought some brown Kendal Mint Cake :-)

Back on schedule, we headed to Ulverston, and were very excited to see some traditional Gypsy caravans parked by the roadside, with Shire horses tethered on the opposite verge.

Not long afterwards, we came up behind another traditional Gypsy caravan...

And then another...

And another...

In all, there must have been about ten of them. Fortunately, they were quite well spaced out, and we were able to get past (though I don't think the cars behind us were so lucky). I said to P1, "I never thought I'd be annoyed to see a traditional Gyspsy caravan!"

...end computer simulation...

By the time we reached Ulverston, it had more or less stopped raining. We'd chosen to go on market day but very few stall holders had braved the weather, so we went into the Market Hall, which hasn't changed much since the 70s, though, sadly, the little antiques shop where P1 used to spend his pocket money on bits and bobs, and I used to buy some really old, obscure and smelly second hand books, had been demolished. But the traditional 'cheeses, bacon, cooked meats and provisions' stall was still there, so P1 bought T a selection of local cheeses, and I bought a bottle of Damson Ketchup.

We wandered round the town for a while, remembering the toy shop, the model shop (Dad's favourite), the wool shop...

Ulverston in the 70s.

and we found another bookshop, where P1 bought a book about conspiracy theories ('Are the Royal Family alien, shape-shifting lizards?') and I, after some um-ing and ah-ing because I didn't want anyone to think I was a Shakespeare-denying nutter, bought a biography of the Earl of Oxford.

The bookseller said, "Two very different books..."

Later, P1 noticed that the Earl of Oxford has a chapter in his book, too.

We texted T to let her know we were coming home, and that we'd be bringing back enough picnic for supper. I was overjoyed to be driving in bright sunshine(!), on a proper motorway with some rather spectacular services, shown here in their glory days:

Lancaster Services

I do love concrete architecture! I also spotted a jay, sitting on a fence, but P1 missed it.

T enjoyed the picnic. And little M, having been fine all day, had his first curry (baby food) and, proving that he's his grandad's grandson, he loved it!

...

Lentil and Walnut Pate
Originally from The Vegan Health Plan by Amanda Sweet, but I use butter ;-)

50g red lentils, washed
50g ground walnuts
1 onion, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, finely chopped
1 tsp thyme
1 tsp yeast extract
Black pepper
Knob of butter

1 Fry the onion and garlic in the butter for a few minutes.
2 Add the washed lentils and enough water to cover. Bring to the boil and skim off any froth.
3 Add the yeast extract, thyme, pepper, and simmer for about 15 mins until the lentils are soft and have absorbed the water. (Add more water during cooking if necessary, but you don't want it to end up too wet or the pate won't 'set').
4 Cool the mixture slightly, then stir in the ground walnuts.
5 Be amazed at the texture, which is suddenly just like meat!
6 Tip into a bowl and smooth with a fork.
7 Chill. It will keep for 3-4 days in the fridge.

Three things you're not interested in meme

ningloreth — Thu, 13 Jun 2019 22:40:52 GMT

The other day kazzy_cee posted a friending meme, and I signed up -- if you want to join in, say so in a comment, and I'll give you three topics or spheres of interest I think you're not interested in, and we'll see what you come up with to surprise us. (Though kazzy_cee and I have similar friends lists, so I won't be surprised if most people have already signed up with her!)

Here are my answers to the three topics she gave me. (I'm not sure why she thought I wouldn't be interested in pets or literature ;-)

Pets

My iPad spontaneously makes little films -- slideshows, really, but with visual effects and music. Most of my photographs are taken on holiday -- in Vancouver, Krakow or Lindisfarne -- so the films are usually fun to watch but, the other day, one popped up that was a bit upsetting.

His name was Swee'pea and he was a Roborovski dwarf hamster. The film's dated 12 July 2014, so I must have bought him a few days earlier. He was the tiniest and, believe it or not, the least attractive of a litter of four, and he was the easiest to catch, which is how I came to buy him and not one of the others. He didn't like being handled, and that was OK with me because I was afraid I might crush him, or drop him, but he was very friendly otherwise. I'd had him about 18 months when I noticed a growth on his tummy. My previous hamster, Arthur, had developed a growth on his leg, and I'd taken him to the vet, where he'd got very frightened, and went to his death in terror -- something I still feel very guilty about -- and I didn't want that to happen to Swee'pea, so I decided I would just keep a careful watch on him, and only take him to the vet if he seemed to be in pain. It was the right decision; a few weeks later, he passed away peacefully, curled up in bed.

Fruit

On the whole, I'm not a big fan of fruit because eating it tends to 'burn' my mouth. My brother has the same problem, so I think we must have a sensitivity to the acid. The fruits I do like tend to be the sweeter kinds, like grapes, pineapple, mango, sweet apples, and I generally eat them with Fage Total Greek yoghurt. I also eat bananas because I've noticed they settle my stomach and the nutritionist told me they're 'pre-biotic', which means that friendly bacteria like them.

Fruit does make nice icons, though! Here are some I've made for various food_stillness challenges.

Literature

Oh, where do I start?!

I have O and A Levels in English Literature and although, at university, I studied History, I also attended lectures about Mediaeval and Early Modern literature, and... Gerard Manley Hopkins!

I went to the Hopkins lectures because I'd 'done' him for A Level, and loved his poetry and his philosophy of 'inscape' (the essential 'this-ness' of an entity*) and 'instress' (the interaction between the inscapes of entities).

*As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

Melvin Bragg did one of his In Our Time programmes about Hopkins just before I went to Vancouver in March. I like to take a 'special' book on holiday, one that will become part of my memories. (I do the same thing with scented soap!). This year I took Hopkins's letters to Robert Bridges.

When I was studying Hopkins in the 70s, it was generally said that he was gay and that this could be 'read' in his poetry. Nowadays, people are rather more respectful. Whatever his sexuality, Hopkins was a Jesuit priest and had taken a vow of celibacy. We tend to be dubious about religion and celibacy, but Hopkins was not, and there is no reason to assume that he broke his vow.

I went to the Early Modern literature lectures because that was the period of History I was studying and I was particularly interested in the History of Ideas, and Shakespeare & co are a brilliant gateway to the exploration of Early Modern culture. (For example, Quentin Skinner's book, Forensic Shakespeare, investigates Shakespeare's use of the forensic rhetoric he would have learned in his final year at Grammar school). I still enjoy reading Early Modern English and, for some reason, I find it much easier and more fun to read my cheap Kindle version of the First Folio than the Arden edition with its modern spelling and punctuation.

I don't exercise much physically, unless you count all the walking I do, but I do do a lot of mental exercise! I've been taking online courses with FutureLearn for over three years, and some of the best have been about literature, especially Jonathan Bate's course, Shakespeare and his World, which involves reading a play a week for ten weeks. Blitzing the plays like that left me with a strong sense of Shakespeare as an individual, who approached each play with a different angle.

Little M in his Santa Suit, Eowyn's new wardrobe, and why you should never take out your purse...

ningloreth — Fri, 01 Feb 2019 14:45:21 GMT

I should have posted these nearer Christmas: little M wearing his Santa Suit on Christmas Day and wondering a) why his hood's so big and b) why everybody's laughing at him.

I'm doubly biased, but I think he looks adorable :-)

...

I've been hiding in my Brexit-shelter since Christmas -- things are so bad that work, which I hate, has almost been a relief.

I think the saddest thing is that it's the people who voted Leave because they were conned into thinking it would improve their lot who're going to suffer the most. I'm still going to Vancouver this year because, bugger it, I may not get the chance again, but I'll be there when the shit hits the fan -- or doesn't -- and it occurs to me that, if sterling goes into free fall, the room rate that currently looks so good might then max out my credit card!

Anyway, safe in my Brexit-shelter, I've been returning to childhood, and making little clothes for Eowyn.

Here are two Christmas dresses made from 'fat quarters' using commercial paper patterns, though I've altered the necklines and the sleeves to make them look a bit more LOTR. The golden lace and belt are made from Christmas ribbon.

Here's a pink dress inspired by the blue one Eowyn wears at the celebrations after Helm's Deep. I used the pattern I made with cling film and sticky tape to make the corslet, and it's decorated with more Christmas ribbon and some beads. (I'm quite pleased with this, though it could really do with ironing!)

Here are some knitted dresses, based on free patterns from this wonderful (if you want to knit doll's clothes) website though, again, I've altered the length, the necklines, and added sleeves to make them look more LOTR.

This shiny red yarn was murder to knit!

This one turned out more Spanish Infante than LOTR, but I'm pleased with the cuffs.

This is meant to be a green version of the coat Eowyn wears on the walk to Helm's Deep, but it's turned out too big -- and it needs a narrower skirt beneath it.

The jewellery was bought from China, via Amazon Marketplace. It was all either silver or pink (?!), so I sprayed some of it gold, and now have a nice, gold-topped wheelie bin.

...

I know you're not supposed to give money to beggars, but sometimes it's impossible not to. (And there's a man who sits outside the UCL Hospital, in London, and puts his hands together and bows his head when you give him a pound, which always cheers me up, and makes up for the rest of my shitty day).

But I've had some very upsetting encounters, both here and in Vancouver, with people following me down the street, insisting that what I've given them isn't enough. In Vancouver, I try to make sure I always have several 'Toonies' in my pocket, so I can just hand one over, but in London I often forget, because I tend to have the exact money for the loo in my right-hand pocket and the exact money for the Big Issue (which I always buy from the same vendor) in my left, and there's no room for anything else!

On Tuesday, I was approached by a young woman. She was very polite, but the moment I opened my purse she told me she needed £14 for the shelter, and that she had nothing. She didn't get aggressive, but the encounter had shifted gear, and I felt pressured. This was partly because, given my home and work situations, I can literally go for days -- sometimes weeks -- without anyone speaking to me who isn't asking for money, and sometimes that really pisses me off. So the young woman got (some of) her money, but she also got some churlishness.

And, afterwards, I felt really guilty.

But, later, I realised that it was when I'd taken out my purse that she'd decided to try for more. And, also, that, generally speaking, it's the people you give the more substantial sums to who get the most aggressive, because, if you can give them a fiver or a tenner, why can't you give them as much as they need? You can see their logic, and, when you look at the bigger picture, it's hard to argue with it.

So, sadly, my advice would be: never take your purse out. If you've not got it in your pocket, just say you're sorry.

...

There are some strange things in the next batch of the 100 Questions!

71. Science fiction or romance?

I like a romance with something else. I'm sure that everybody on my F-list has already heard me say this, but... My very first fic, My Bow Shall Sing With Your Sword, started off as a straightforward Legolas/Eowyn romance but, about halfway through writing it, I thought, "This is so boring; it needs a murder," and I went back and added one.

(Now I'm wondering if I've ever written a story that doesn't have an element of crime or mystery about it -- maybe some of my early Dramione stories?)

I do like science fiction, especially when it involves living in a closed space, like DS9, or a ship in transit, or a colony built from containers and protected from hostile fauna by an electric fence... I've no idea why, except that I've always liked the idea of living on a ship or in a shipping container -- and I did live on a narrowboat for 15 years!

I also like post-Apocalypse stories.

But I like a bit of romance, too, especially when the couple have each other's back, and work together to solve a problem, and the writer doesn't insist on driving a wedge between them because 'you have to have conflict' -- no! Conflict them with someone else!

'Us against the world' is what I like to read and write.

72. Do you take naps?

Occasionally, when I'm driving late at night, or at the end of a holiday, and I'm tired or jet-lagged, I'll stop at the services, set an alarm, and have a rest but, other than that, no. I sometimes fall asleep on the couch, but I don't think that's quite the same thing!

73. How many classes do you/did you take in high-school?

Is that the equivalent of A Levels?

I took History, English, Art and General Studies. I also took an S Level in History and an O Level in Economics. And I took a rather weird exam, called Test in English, because Cambridge wanted two Es and Test in English. I'm not sure what language they thought I'd written the answers to their entrance exams in.

74. When did it last snow where you live?

On Tuesday. I was in London, so I didn't see it fall, I just had to drive back from the tram station on snowy roads.

75. Does it ever snow where you live?

Yes, obviously!

Here's a picture from my front door, taken on Wednesday morning.

And here are a couple from my back door, showing my new Christmas tree!

76. How many months until your birthday?

Eleven :-(

77. How much charge does your computer have right now?

It's plugged into the mains and fully charged. I don't often run my big laptop on battery.

78. What is your favourite Disney channel movie?

That sentence makes no sense to me! I don't have a Disney channel.

One of the first films I remember seeing at the cinema -- along with South Pacific and, bizarrely, The Chalk Garden (in which Deborah Kerr plays an ex-con) -- is Disney's Pinocchio, and I remember my six-year-old-ish self being absolutely gob-smacked when the whale surged across the screen. No wonder I like films with lots of special effects!

My favourite Disney films, though, must be the Pirates of the Caribbean series, because Orlando Bloom was at his most beautiful as Will Turner. I've never watched the fourth film because Will isn't in it.

79. The city or the sea side?

Well, I can live without the sea but I can't live without a city. A city with sea side would be perfect -- sounds like Vancouver!

80. What is your least favourite colour?

Blue.

I used to think that blue was my mother's favourite colour, because she never dressed me in anything else, but she asked for yellow flowers at her funeral, so now I'm not so sure. If she'd dressed me in yellow, I think I would have been a much sunnier person. One of the first things I did when I went away to university was buy a bright red dress.

81. Do you have homework/household paperwork to do?

No. I do all of my household paperwork on Monday nights, when I also buy my train ticket for London.

I do have a chapter of The Subsequent Life and Opinions of Thomas Haxby to finish, though, and, at the moment, writing it is like pulling teeth -- or like doing homework.

And I start a FutureLearn course about the history and science of psychology on Monday.

82. Are you still friends with your first best friend?

My first best friend was called Glenda, and when I last saw her we were about 20 years old, but I imagine we would still be friends if we met again.

83. Do you have/are you the gay cousin?

I've never been asked whether I'm gay before. Perhaps it's obvious that I'm not -- or perhaps it's (wrongly) obvious that I am, though I suspect it's actually that nobody cares. But I have given some thought to how I could say "No" without giving offence, and I've decided that the best way would simply be to say, "No, I like men," which is surely fair enough?

As far as I know, I have no gay relations.

84. Do you own dungarees?

No, but I once borrowed a pair to wear when I was working on my car.

Merry Christmas!

ningloreth — Mon, 24 Dec 2018 10:53:02 GMT

Chocolate and cheese Advent Calendars, both empty...

Merry Christmas everybody!!

...

Today's a mega-cooking day but, since they're Christmassy, I thought I'd belatedly do the Friday Five.

1. Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas – which one do you use?

"Merry Christmas."

Though I have been known to make cards that say 'Season's Greetings'. Just for a change.

When I lived in Nottingham, there was an interesting left wing bookshop which, at Christmas, had a basement filled with Christmas paraphernalia -- cards, wrapping paper, decorations -- but not a single thing said the word 'Christmas'. I honestly found that hypocritical.

2. Do you own an ugly Christmas sweater?

No, I own a very nice Christmas sweater.

I've only worn it once, on a trip to Cromford Mill for my birthday, because it's very warm and, if the temperature isn't several degrees below zero, I'm too hot in it.

3. Do you celebrate the Winter Solstice?

No.

I love the way Christmas combines the Christian and the... 'pagan', for want of a better word, though I understand that our more 'pagan' Christmas traditions bear little or no relationship to genuine pre-Christian beliefs, and were either invented or cherry-picked from elsewhere by the Victorians. Excess, though, and celebrating the twelve days of Christmas, is traditional, and I'm all for a bit of excess!

As far as the days getting longer goes, I much prefer to walk about in the dark, when everything is lit by street lights and the light from shop windows. So the thought that nights are now getting lighter again doesn't cheer me.

4. Now that you are ‘in the know,’ what would you leave out for St. Nick on the 24th?

If there were children in the house, we would leave out chocolate for me Santa, and carrots for the reindeer.

Looking back to my own toddlerhood, I thought that there were lots of Father Christmases, and that they each delivered presents in their own area. That was because my paternal Grandma -- who was so like me, right down to the annoying blonde eyebrows -- loved Christmas, and used to take me to see every Father Christmas she could find. We would go into Manchester and tour the big department stores -- Lewis's, Pauldens and Kendals -- visiting Santa's Grotto in each one, and I would come home with a massive haul of presents. I particularly remember getting an abacus. I didn't know what it was, or how to use it, but I must have played for hours sliding the shiny wooden beads back and forth.

I once asked my Mum whether it would be the Father Christmas from Lewis's or the tall, thin one from Pauldens that would deliver my presents. I can't remember what she said!

5. Tired of the snow and icky weather yet?

We haven't had any snow, nor any particularly icky weather yet.

Witterings...

ningloreth — Fri, 21 Dec 2018 11:51:39 GMT

Santa's littlest helper is ready to roll:

In case it worries other people as much as it worried me when I noticed, I've since swapped the Mediaeval and Renaissance Drama anthologies, so they're now in proper chronological order.

I still haven't heard from the RSPCA. After a couple of days, I stopped being upset and started being sneaky -- "When they come, I'll tell them to check the shed" (because the door was stuck fast and I wanted it opened) -- but now I'm just pissed off, so, if they ever do bother to turn up, they'd better be wearing tin hats.

Last weekend, my brother and sister-in-law, P&K, came up from East Anglia, and we had our first Christmas of the year. I have a pathelogical need for everything to match, but I've always wanted to be the sort of person who can just throw disparate things together with exquisite taste, so, this year, I handed P&K an assortment of stuff and asked them to set the table. Here's the result, before and after the meal, with my niece's little son, M, at the centre of the second picture:

I think the table looks nice! Our second Christmas of the year will be on Christmas Day, and I'll try to do something similar, but I've bought a white table runner...

I managed to finish M's Santa suit just in time:

Joining the legs together and knitting the first couple of inches of body was a real fight, because the circular needle needs to bend into a figure-of-3 shape, which it doesn't, easily, and I had to keep pulling out loops of excess cable between groups of stiches. On reflection, I think the pattern's a bit bonkers. The finished suit's slightly big, so I don't know if M'll ever get to wear it. It would be nice if my niece put it on him and took some pictures for posterity.

I also made my brother a snowman hat:

(I've no idea whether people actually like getting the things I knit for them!)

Now I can to go back to knitting the blanket, which I'm making for myself so that's much less stressful. I've also bought some vintage dolls' clothes patterns from Etsy, which I think I can adapt to look more Lord of the Rings for Eowyn. On the whole, I'm a more confident knitter than sewer.

...

I promised some pictures of Krakow, and I took a bajillion, so here are a few, and I'll post some more next time. :-)

The crossroads near my brother's apartment has been torn up so that the tramlines can be replaced and -- in the hope of improving his chances of re-election, apparently -- the Mayor has decided to rennovate the entire line at once, so the roadworks extend almost into the centre of town.

There is usually a tram stop behind that big light!

Every day, we had to walk along the side of the roadworks, to the next crossroads, and catch a replacement bus. The buses were free but incredibly busy and, a couple of times, late at night, we gave in and took a taxi instead.

Here's a view of the Main Square, the Rynek Główny, with the Cloth Hall on the left. The Christmas Market was already set up on the other side of the hall, but hadn't yet opened.

Here's another view of the square, showing St. Mary's Basilica, the Mariacki.

Every hour, on the hour, a trumpeter plays a signal, called the Hejnał, from all four sides of the taller tower. It commemorates the alarm that was sounded before a 13th century Mongol attack on the city, and it breaks off suddenly, because the original trumpeter was shot dead.

All the trees in the square had been covered in lights, which changed slowly from silver to gold and back again.

The ground floor of the Cloth Hall is filled with little stalls selling souvenirs. (The Museum beneath it shows that its Mediaeval predecessor was also filled with rows of little stalls, though the things they sold were rather more luxurious ;-)

That's me on the right, in the black coat, with all the hair. My brother was trying to work out how to put the camera on a better setting...

Later, we went to our favourite little vodka bar to warm up.

We shared a taster tray of flavoured vodkas -- coffee, black pepper, black cherry, elderberry, caramel, and quince -- then each of us had a glass of our favourite.

They taste like soft drinks so you can easily drink far too much if you're not careful. In the past, we've seen the place packed with drunken and vomiting Brits, but now there's a sign on the door saying 'No Stag or Hen Parties', and they've raised the prices a bit!

...

A few more of the 100 Questions!

61. Do you speak a second language?

Sadly, no, though I did study French and Latin at school.

It takes me a few days in France to get up the confidence to try speaking, but by the end of a week I can generally understand and make myself understood, so I'm pretty sure I'd soon be fluent in a sort of pidgin French if I ever had the opportunity to stay there for any length of time. I can say the odd word in Polish and wave my hands about eloquently. And I was doing quite well with Ancient Egyptian* until I had to stop because something in Real Life demanded all my free time. Oh, and when I was writing Legolas/Eowyn stories, I did learn a bit of Elvish, but I've forgotten most of that now.

* Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs are brilliant! Once you know that

means 'poor, mean, insignificant', that

means 'man', and that

represent n, dj and s, you can see a word like

and think, "'nedjes' -- it must mean an insignificant person," and then you find out that it is translated as 'poor man, commoner'.

62. Who was your first ever best friend?

Denise, at infant school. She was tiny and fragile-looking, so I always felt huge and clumsy when I was with her. I think every close friend I've ever had has made me feel like Pooh Bear with Piglet.

Speaking of Pooh, with some of the money I was refunded after doing the Goody Bags for writerconuk, I bought this from Etsy:

It's a 1970s Soviet badge, and the vendor, who is Latvian, had it listed as Winnie the Pooh. I wasn't convinced, so I carefully pasted the cyrillic letters into Google translate and this was the result:

It's pronounced something like "Vin-ni Pukh".

It seems that, in 1969, the Russian director Fyodor Khitruk, who didn't know that Disney had already made a film, made three animated shorts, which you can watch on YouTube with English subtitles. They're wonderful -- 'grittier' than Disney -- and Pooh's song is particularly catchy!

63. Have you ever had an operation?

Yes, I've had four!

I was sterilised when I was thirty. I was very slim and fit in those days, and was up and about (though bent over a bit!) a few hours later.

More recently, I've had my knee repaired (which took a lot more time to heal, and then I more or less wrecked it again doing too much on holiday); I've had my gall bladder taken out (and woke up to hear the nurse saying, "She keeps stopping breathing, but it's okay because she starts up again by herself," and then spent the afternoon on oxygen, which I don't think I really needed but which was fun); and I had a carpal tunnel operation on my right hand (which was bizarre, because they use a local anaesthetic, and I could feel them working on it and mopping up the blood, but there was no pain -- the surgeon said that no one knows how that works).

64. Tell me about your favourite cousin

I have five cousins and I don't have a favourite. I don't see them often, but they're all lovely. One is ex-RAF and now works in security, here and in Germany; one lives in Spain, where he and his partner run a taxi service for British tourists; one is an engineer and does a lot of work in China; one is the funniest, bubbliest woman you could ever meet; and one is a real earth mother, fostering children and looking after anyone in need.

65. Do you have a piece of clothing that doesn’t even fit you anymore but you can’t bare to throw away?

Bear.

My wardrobe is absolutely full of stuff that doesn't fit now but, you never know, may fit again, one day. My favourite is probably the slinky red dress I bought for the millenium. It's covered in transparent sequins, so it has that wet/snakeskin look. I had a good figure in those days :-)

66. Have you ever been in a musical?

I was in my school choir -- in the second altos, though my voice is naturally higher -- and we once sang Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat. Does that count?

67. Do you have a porch?

No, I have a vestibule. The inner door has coloured glass panels and, one day, I'm going to commission kazzy_cee to make a stained glass centrepiece for it.

68. How many times have you watched your favourite movie?

I saw the first Pirates of the Caribbean film about twenty times.

69. What do you order at McDonalds?

When I lived in East Markham (just off the A1, near Newark) there was a McDonald's Drive Through at the bottom of the hill, and my ex and I sometimes had a vanilla milkshake, even though we weren't totally sure it was vegetarian. Last time I bothered to investigate, McDonalds wasn't good for vegetarians. I think that even the chips were sprayed with beef fat to make them crispy.

70. Do you get on with old people?

LOL! Do young people get on with me?

Having said that, a lady who looked a fair bit older than I do knocked on the door yesterday and said, "My Dad took in this parcel for you..." So maybe I'm not as old as I feel.

...

The Christmas tree I'd had for 8 years died when I was away in Vancouver. I think it had got waterlogged, and the Beast from the East froze its roots. It had grown about 18 inches since I planted it, and I was very sad to lose it.

This spring (above) compared to last spring (below) -- and it has since lost almost all of its needles.

We have put it, still in its soil, behind the garage, where it can either pass away or recover in peace, and I have bought a new one, which is nice and bushy, and my brother's going to help me put it in a bigger pot asap. Then it will just be a matter of crossing my fingers.

I DO NOT HAVE A CAT

ningloreth — Sat, 08 Dec 2018 16:12:06 GMT

I came back off holiday on Wednesday and stepped into a Kafka-esque nightmare.

The front door was stuck, but that wasn't a problem. (I got in through the back door and managed to open it from inside).

The heating was broken, but that wasn't a problem. (The wind had blown the pilot light out).

The problem was a note from my brother, P, saying (suspiciously, I thought): PHONE ME WHEN YOU GET HOME NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT (my italics).

It seems that someone has reported me to the RSPCA for swanning off on holiday and leaving my cat to fend for itself.

I don't have a cat.

I've never had a cat.

My brother phoned the RSPCA to tell them that I don't have a cat. It took him half an hour to get through to someone.

P: She doesn't have a cat.
RSPCA: We still have to follow up a complaint. We need to talk to her.
P: She's not here. She's on holiday. I'm just coming in to feed the fish and water the plants.
RSPCA: Are you feeding the cat?
P: SHE DOESN'T HAVE A CAT!
RSPCA: We still have to follow up a complaint.

I phoned them myself, first thing Thursday morning. It only took me a quarter of an hour to get through.

ME: I don't have a cat.
RSPCA (as if the informant might have mistaken the species): Do you have any animals?
ME: Just some fish.
RSPCA (as if making an important note): Fish...
ME (breaking down): Surely you can understand how upsetting this is? I would never be cruel to a cat. I don't have a cat. There are cats living on my street, and I sometimes talk to them, but they're not my cats.

Never let yourself get upset when you're talking to a complete arsehole. It will only encourage her to treat you like shit. Yes, I know that the RSPCA is doing an important job, but treating a person as if they're guilty based only on some anonymous person's random accusation is a slippery slope, however good the cause.

I've been waiting for over two days for an inspector to call, and...

Well, how can I prove that I don't own a cat? Obviously, saying that I don't own a cat (until I'm blue in the face) isn't enough. And the absence of food, a litter tray, and a cat flap might merely prove to them what a crap cat owner I am.

God, I'm fed up.

Some ramblings...

ningloreth — Tue, 27 Nov 2018 17:22:36 GMT

I'm setting off on holiday tonight -- a week in Krakow with my brother and sister-in-law -- so I've been very stressed, what with deciding what clothes to take, washing them, packing them, weighing my suitcase, finding my passport and travel insurance -- nearly forgot those! -- cleaning the fishes and clearing out the fridge, and doing all those last minute things at work that just have to be done before I go away because, well, the business will fall apart otherwise. Obviously.

I'm not sure where the last two weeks have gone. I've done a bit of writing, which I'm quite happy with, I've worked on my great nephew's Santa suit,

I've done a some sewing for Eowyn, and made a few icons for the food_stillness challenges,

*~ PASTA ~*

SET 1

1	2	3	4

SET 2

1	2	3	4

*~ PICKLES ~*

SET 1

1	2	3	4

SET 2

1	2	3	4

*~ HALLOWEEN ~*

SET 1

1	2	3	4

SET 2

1	2	3	4

*~ AVOCADO ~*

SET 1

1	2	3	4

SET 2

1	2	3	4

(I did well in the Pickles challenge: came first with set two and second with set one!) but, other than that...

I think someone has been retconning me, and on a fairly regular basis.

...

More of the 100 Questions:

54. Do you often ride the bus?

Never, if I can help it! I prefer my public transport to run on rails, so that I can be absolutely sure where it's going.

The one place where I do use the bus quite a lot is in Vancouver, and I've gone so far as to get a Compass card -- the equivalent of an Oyster card -- but, even there, where all the roads run parallel to one another, and cross each other at right angles, and have numbers, I still get lost, or I can't find the stop, or I get on the wrong bus, or the bus sails past my stop when I ring the bell and I have to walk back for miles...

Having said that, though, in the golden days after I've retired -- assuming that they haven't done as I'm expecting and passed a law discontinuing all concessions on the eve of my 66th birthday -- I'm going to wear out my bus pass, travelling into Bolton, and Manchester, and even farther afield, so I can spend some quality time in the museums and galleries.

55. Do you have a fireplace in your house?

I do, apparently, but, for reasons known only to himself, the previous-but-one owner built an ugly brick wall in front of it and had an even uglier gas fire installed. Another project for when I retire!

56. Are you violent when you’re angry?

Inanimate objects cower before me. I've never thrown a person across the room, though.

57. Do you cry when you’re angry?

With tears of frustration!

58. Favourite Harry potter book?

Well... I came to Harry Potter via the films, and I didn't really become a fan until Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, when I became obsessed with Draco; I still write the odd Dramione story. So I suppose my favourite's The Half-Blood Prince.

59. Can you remember your last dream?

Yes, I remember a really strange dream about watching porn. Seriously! The porn itself, though, was disappointingly hazy.

60. Do you go to bed early or late?

Depends how you classify the early hours of the morning!

I seldom go to bed before 1 am, and if I'm reading or listening to something on 4Extra, or if tomorrow's a London day (and, sod's law, I'm worried about oversleeping), I may well be awake until 4 or 5 am. The other day, I didn't start feeling sleepy until gone six, so I quickly reset the alarm, to get as much sleep as possible.

I tend to catch up every so often, though, by sleeping really late and, on London days, I usually sleep for about an hour on the train.

I'll be taking pictures of Krakow and will post them when I get back ;-)

The Shieldmaiden, the cheese, and more of the 100 Questions

ningloreth — Sun, 11 Nov 2018 18:50:41 GMT

I'm not mathematical enough to know whether it is amazing that the 100th anniversary of Armistice Day should have fallen on a Sunday, but it's very appropriate. At the same time, it feels like there's no possible way to properly commemorate the end of something so apocalyptic.

...

I had a busy couple of weeks, then it took me another couple of weeks to recover, and then I got so behind with work, and so worried about it, that I got up at 6 am yesterday morning to catch up, only to find that, when I finally put my mind to it, the totally impossible took me less than two hours!

Unfortunately, posting here has also slipped...

But, thanks to bogwitch, who did some research for me and then suggested a body-swap solution, my ridiculously-expensive-but-bought-off-ebay-for-only-£16.99 Eowyn doll no longer looks like one of Michelangelo's female nudes...

...AKA a man with breasts (here seen with with Barbie's head and Ken's shoes)...

...but more like a Made to Move Barbie (now with Eowyn's head):

It did take me literally two months to pluck up the courage to pull off the heads, which, as it turned out, wasn't entirely unjustified because, although Eowyn's neck has a fairly straightforward mushroom shape, Barbie's neck has an elaborate set of barbs (LOL), which makes the operation quite tricky. Still, it's done now, and Eowyn no longer needs to wear Ken's shoes but can nick Barbie's instead:

(I'll be painting those pink boots brown, but I can't bring myself to risk spoiling the red ones).

By coincidence, somebody recently gave me Kudos on one of my old LOTR stories at AO3 and, whilst I was over there admiring it, I ended up re-reading the story, and some of the others (especially the unfinished ones), and I noticed that my!Eowyn has a distinctive wardrobe, so I decided to make something similar for doll!Eowyn, starting with the suede corslet Eowyn wears in The Two Towers and in most of my stories:

There's a brilliant tutorial on YouTube, which shows how to make a close-fitting bodice. Basically, you wrap the doll in cling film, cover that with sticky tape, and then, with a permanent marker, draw lines in all the appropriate places. Then you just cut the sticky tape shell into the pieces you've marked, trace them onto paper, add a seam allowance, and you have a pattern!

Here's a very grubby picture of doll!Eowyn in her new corslet:

It annoys me a bit that the grain of the fabric isn't running vertically in the centre panel, and I would have added more gold if getting the big needle through the fabric hadn't hurt so much... It still took me an entire day (!) to make it, and my fingers are absolutely ruined. When they've recovered, I'm going to attempt a long, fur-trimmed coat like the one Eowyn wears in the scene where Aragorn finds her lying on a couch.

My Christmas blanket, meanwhile, is about half done:

Yay! Just 18 more squares left to knit, plus about 17 feet of border, then a lot of blocking and sewing, and then I'll need to remortgage the house to buy some fleece to back it -- I had no idea that fleece was so expensive! But I've put the blanket aside for the time being, so that I can concentrate on this:

It's a Santa suit for my great nephew, who'll be about 7 months old at Christmas! I've knitted the other leg since I took the picture, and I want to get it finished by the end of the month, so that he can wear it in December (if his mother likes it ;-)

...

I'm not a member of the Friday Five community, but several people on my f-list have posted answers this week, and I love cheese, so...

1. What was the first type of cheese you ever ate?

I grew up in a cultural black hole on the outskirts of Manchester, in the 1960s. We lived in a terrace, and there were four shops 'on the front of the road' -- a greengrocer's, a fishmonger's, a grocer's (Mr Crook's) and a general store-cum-newsagent's (Joyce's) -- where we bought all of our food. (Nowadays, that would cost a fortune!) In Mr Crook's and Joyce's, you simply asked for 'cheese' and were given a lump of white Cheshire. It was harder than the Cheshire cheese you get nowadays, possibly because it had been kept at room temperature in a big cheese dish with a transparent plastic cover, and cut with a wire, then wrapped up in greaseproof paper.

On holiday in the Lakes one time, my mother bought some cheese and was given something orange! I remember we were all dubious, but we tried it, and loved it. Looking back, I think it was probably Double Gloucester, because it was quite mild, but my mother's attempts to buy orange cheese at home resulted in Red Leicester (which we also loved).

It wasn't until I went up to university that I discovered Cheddar, which is really hard to believe now!

2. What was the type of cheese you ate most recently?

Cheesestrings! I'm not proud! I love peeling bits off them :-)

3. What is the most unusual cheese you ever ate?

Egyptian hard cheese has a distinctive taste and goes well with chips and roast vegetables (which was standard vegetarian fare in Egypt in the 1990s).

I think the most memorable cheese I've eaten so far is the Cheddar with Maple Syrup I bought in a Duty Free shop at Vancouver Airport. I explained to the shop assistant that, because my travel agent hadn't told them I was vegetarian, Air Canada hadn't had any food for me on the flight over (10 hours!), and that I wanted to have some cheese and crackers with me on the way back, just in case. She very kindly cut the cheese into small pieces and packed it in ice for me. It turned out that I didn't need it, but it's a combination of two of the best tastes in the world, and they really go well together -- and, when I got back to Heathrow, my brother and sister-in-law liked it, too!

4. What is your favorite cheese?

I love lots of cheeses (though I hate goat's cheese). My favourite English cheese, mainly because it's rare, is Sage Derby. I've no idea why supermarkets don't stock it; I'm sure it would be very popular. Maybe it's hard to make in sufficient quantity.

My favourite, favourite cheese is Polish smoked sheep's cheese. At the Krakow Christmas Market, they sell it, toasted, with a sauce they call 'cranberry', but I suspect it's made from a local berry, and the name's just to reassure tourists.

Here are some, er, very atmospheric pictures of last year's Christmas Market:

And in three weeks' time, I'll be there again :-)

5. What is your favorite dish made with cheese?

Macaroni Cheese!

I make a pretty good Macaroni Cheese myself, but the best I've ever tasted was in a fairly posh restaurant at Somerset House a few years ago; I think it was on my birthday. It had a topping of bright green dust, and was served with a teeny, tiny side salad that had a dressing which tasted like Heaven.

...

More of the 100 Questions!

43. What was your first profile picture?

My first ever profile picture was of Nefertiti:

One of my colleagues (who worked at the London office and had never seen me) asked if it was a picture of me, LOL.

44. Favourite tshirt?

My favourite ever T-shirt was bought from Oxfam's Sale rack for £1. The fabric was printed with bright yellow chains on a 'patchwork' of red, green and blue. I got a lot of compliments when I wore it -- people thought it was expensive, and someone said it was 'very Lacroix'. I wore it until it literally fell apart, and I think I still have it, somewhere, but I couldn't find it to take a photo. This pattern isn't the same, but it has a similar vibe:

My current favourite T-shirt is also from a charity shop. It's black, with a square neckline and fake embroidery -- the flowers are printed in a plastic-y material -- and it has pearly beads here and there. I haven't photographed the whole thing because it needs washing, but you can see that I've lost a bead :-(

It's seen better days, but I still like it!

45. Best tumblr friend?

I don't do tumblr. (And if I did, I would never say that someone was my best friend, and risk hurting other friends).

46. When did you last run?

Depends what you mean by run! I often waddle a bit -- to catch the train, etc -- but I haven't done any serious running since I was at school. There was a time when I was super-fit (and super-slim), doing Jane Fonda's most advanced workout and another workout -- maybe Callenetics or something with resistance bands -- every day, but those days are long gone!

47. Do you like to paint your nails?

I love nail polish. I am always buying exciting colours. But the most I ever do is, occasionally, paint my nails a pearly pink. I do use dobs of nail polish for other things though, such as marking light switches and keys, and stopping things fraying, and -- in the days when I used to make my own greetings cards -- for special paint effects.

48. Did you ever do something as a kid that got you into loads of trouble?

Oh, my god, yes!

I can't remember how it happened but, one day, I managed to get out -- seriously, our back yard was like Fort Knox -- and go playing on some waste ground with a group of other children. I don't think I knew them. They'd made a tree house and I thought it was wonderful. The tree must have been a willow, because its branches drooped down and touched the long grass, so it had green 'walls', and there were wooden crates you could sit on, and you could climb up onto some of the branches. I must only have been gone for about half an hour, but my mother -- who was a good 30 years ahead of her time in this respect -- had always been certain that it was just a matter of time before a serial killer got hold of me, and she had the entire neighbourhood out looking for me. Luckily, we didn't have a phone, or the police would have been involved, too. Afterwards, I spent a lot of time in bed.

Then there was the nose-blowing incident -- I'd seen people blow their nose, and I'd certainly heard them do it, but I couldn't understand how they did it, and I was convinced that it would hurt.

And then there was the porridge incident but, looking back, that really wasn't my fault. What sort of idiot would be surprised when a visiting five-year old refused to eat porridge? I mean, look at it! I've still never tasted porridge.

49. Who is your favourite dog that isn’t yours?

I don't know anyone (other than online friends) with a dog, and I have to be careful around dogs because stroking them gives me a rash, but I do sponsor a dog through Dog's Trust. My first dog was a Jack Russell terrier called Apache, and I loved him to bits. He used to 'write' letters, telling me how he was doing. But, during a fairly simple operation, they found he had a much bigger problem and they put him to sleep. Dog's Trust allocated me another dog but she didn't feel right, so I phoned (in tears!) and asked if I could choose one myself. Now I have Seamus. He's a character, but he doesn't write as often -- I think Dog's Trust have cut back on their expenses -- and I don't feel quite the same connection with him. No one could ever replace Apache.

Apache on the left, Seamus on the right.

50. Have you ever been drunk?

About three times in my entire life. The first time, I came home to find we'd had a power cut, phoned the elctricity company, and could not make them take me seriously... Then I lay on the floor, watching through closed eyes as a neverending line of ceilings jumped over me. I really don't like being even a little bit drunk. I'm very aware that I'm not in control and I don't enjoy the feeling.

I don't like watching other people get drunk, either, so I'm a lot of fun at parties.

51. Have you ever done something you regret while drunk?

No.

52. Do you want to kiss anyone right now?

Huh, chance would be a fine thing.

53. Do/did you like your math teacher?

I was always very lucky with maths teachers. Unlike games teachers, maths teachers do seem to understand that just because you aren't a natural at their subject, that doesn't mean you're an idiot.

At university, most of my closest friends were mathematicians -- I've no idea why! -- and one of them introduced me to his younger brother who, later, became my husband. (And then my ex husband).

When I met him, D was preparing for his Physics A Level, so one of the first things we did together was work through a book called Essential Pre-University Physics -- very romantic! -- with me testing him. I remember thinking that, if only I'd had that textbook, I'd have got a much better result in my Physics O Level, and might even have decided to take Physics A Level.

D won a school prize for his A Levels, and chose a book called The Moscow Puzzles, full of those "If one train starts from Moscow and another train starts from Leningrad..." types of puzzle, so I then spent a whole summer learning an entirely new way of thinking, which I'll always thank him for.

Christmas Blanket and Questions 32 to 42.

ningloreth — Mon, 08 Oct 2018 13:38:28 GMT

I've decided to make a Christmas blanket (though the jury's still out on which particular Christmas we're talking about).

Last year, at about this time, I saw a lovely pattern on Pinterest:

So I went out and bought a large quantity of red and white yarn. Then, since the instructions are not only in Spanish (or maybe Italian) but also very low resolution and completely illegible, I went out again and bought some squared paper, and spent an entire day carefully re-drawing the charts:

Then I spent a whole year limbering up...

And now I've started! Here are the first three and a half squares:

I'm particularly pleased with the one at the front. Just 31 1/2 more squares to go, and then the border, and then I can sew it all together and back it with some fleece.

By July, I should think.

...

32. Who was the last person you called cute?

It depends what you mean by 'person'. The last tiny little person I called cute was a Roborovski dwarf hamster in Pets at Home, when I was buying a length of tubing to make tops for the pens in the writerconuk goody bags. I came this close to buying him and, the funny thing is, it wasn't the cost of him (£10) or a cage for him (£25) that stopped me, it was the thought of all the food, the sawdust, and the toys he would also need...

My last hamster, Swee'pea, who passed away over a year ago, was a Roborovski dwarf hamster, and he got called cute quite often, and not just by me:

33. Who was the last person that called you cute?

You've obviously never seen me.

34. How did you meet your best friend?

My ex husband was my best friend, and I met him at university when his brother, whom I already knew, introduced us. It was, um, love at first sight.

35. Escalators or elevators?

Whatever's available. I don't have any problem using either.

36. Are you named after anyone, who?

Nope.

37. What was your first url?

I suspect this is a social media question... But I do have a first (and only) URL:

http://www.eryn-carantaur.com

It was intended as an archive for my Legolas/Eowyn fics, so it's named after the Elven colony Legolas is said to have created in South Ithilien after the Ring War. nebride, whose Legolas/OFC fics are absolutely, for want of a better word, brilliant, calls her colony 'Eryn Culhallas' ('Wood of the Tall Golden-Red Trees'). I had that name in mind when first I started writing, and the alternative I eventually came up with, Eryn Carantaur, also means 'big red forest'. Unfortunately, I'm now fairly sure I've got the Elvish wrong; I think it should be 'Eryn Garandaur'*. (Still, place names often get corrupted, don't they? ;-)

*Because consonants 'mutate' when in close proximity to other sounds. In English this happens when the language is spoken, in Sindarin it's grammatical. In Sindarin, when two words are joined together, the first consonant of the second word mutates, and T > D, so caran (red) + taur (huge forest) should be Carandaur. Plus, the first consonant of an adjective mutates, and C > G, so Eryn (wood) and Carandaur (red huge forest) becomes Eryn Garandaur :-(

38. Autumn or winter?

I love both, much more than summer. In fact, I would say that summer is just a lull -- sometimes a really annoying, sweltering lull -- between the end of one year and the beginning of the next.

For me, Autumn always feels like the start of the year. (I think that has something to do with school and university!) It's cool, and breezy, and it smells fresh. It's also the beginning of a long period of special events. First there's Halloween (when I make up zillions of little bags to give to the local kids and generally end up eating most of them myself).

The teddies heartily wishing that Halloween didn't come every year.

A pumpkin with battery-powered eyes and treats for the kids.

Then there's Bonfire Night (when we sometimes have fireworks in my brother's garden, because mine's too small, and I make food to take round). Then, at the start of December, I often go to Krakow with my brother and sister-in-law, where there are Christmas Markets, with mulled wine and street food. Then, because my sister-in-law's father has been very ill for the past few years, and she wants to spend Christmas itself with him, my entire family comes to my house for an early Christmas, usually the weekend before the real one, and we have a very traditional Christmas dinner, with presents and games afterwards. And then there's the real Christmas, for whoever's available, which we also have at my house. And then there's a whole week off until New Year...

Oh, and there's also my birthday, somewhere in mid December.

What's not to like?

39. Do you win at scrabble?

I've only ever played Scrabble once, a very long time ago, and I didn't enjoy it. I can't remember who won, but I shouldn't think it was me. For someone who has always written for a living, and who loves words, their meaning and, especially, their etymology, I have a real hatred of word games.

40. Put your ipod on shuffle , who is the first song that comes up by?

I don't do Shuffle, because I don't tend to listen to individual songs, I tend to listen to music that may be in several movements, which need to be played in the correct order. However, turning on my iPod... the last thing I listened to was one of the Preludes — Book 2 no 2, 'Voiles' — by Debussy, which is actually something you could listen to on its own. In fact, I first heard it on its own in a school music lesson, and I remember going to the local record shop to buy a record of it.

41. Have you ever drunk from a mason jar?

Yes! And here's the proof:

This was taken in a Vancouver wine bar called 'The Flying Pig'. I'm not sure why I like the place so much -- but I love the fried sprouts (which you can see in the bowl behind the macaroni cheese), and I enjoy looking out of the window, because the bar's in quite a busy, trendy area. When I discovered it, some years ago, I remember telling my brother, "They serve coke in jam jars, it's that posh." Of course, everyone does it these days.

Here's my version of fried sprouts:

42. Can you draw?

Yes, though I can't do much else art-wise -- I don't really have a visual imagination -- and I'm really, really out of practice.

Here are some very murky photographs of an exhibition I took part in, which was a fraud, really, because my brother and sister-in-law just needed something to fill up the space:

The icons were drawn for my website, but I don't use them any more. The fruit and veg and the little dog superhero -- who is blowing, not vomiting! -- were drawn at an illustration night class I used to go to.

Well why would it work? And some birds.

ningloreth — Sat, 29 Sep 2018 13:20:18 GMT

Sod's law: having decided to make the effort to post here more, I discovered that I -- and at least some of my f-list -- couldn't see the pictures I was posting, or only see them intermittently. In recent posts, I solved the problem by using LJ Scrapbook to host the pictures, but that didn't fix my earlier posts...

Cue lots of support requests to LJ, to my service provider and, since I've done something I've always said I wouldn't do -- imported my journal into Dreamwidth -- to Dreamwidth, too, because although there's no problem with the pictures there, crossposting isn't working for me. Honestly, why would it?

It turns out that LiveJournal handles images hosted anywhere that doesn't uses the https protocol via a proxy, causing all sorts of firewall and timing problems. My service provider has now whitelisted the IP addresses LJ provided, so the pictures are back -- fingers crossed! -- and they've also told me that 'you can call your images over https'. So, belt and braces! I'm going to experiment with https under the cut.

One thing I have been doing regularly is making icons for food_stillness. These were for last week's challenge:

SET 1

1	2	3	4	5

SET 2

1	2	3	4	5

They didn't win, but I was quite pleased with Set 2. And number 2.3 won Best Cropping.

...

More answers to the 100 Questions!

21. Do you kill spiders?

Oh, yes, absolutely! The moment I've calmed down and stopped screaming.

22. Have you ever made an ice pop?

I've bought ice pops and frozen them, if that's what you mean. At the moment, I have a box of Jubblies -- remember those? -- sitting in the kitchen, waiting to go in the freezer as soon as there's a bit of space.

23. Are you wearing shoes right now?

No. I'm wearing these:

I buy them from one of the tourist shops in Krakow. They are made from felt so they do get a bit smelly, but they have a good, thick sole so I can go outside in them if I'm careful.

I am probably on my seventh or eighth pair.

24. Tell me about you favourite primary school/elementary school teacher

Her name was Mrs Hamilton and she was lovely. She encouraged kids, she didn't stifle them. She taught me to write -- or, at least, she recognised that I could already write quite fluently. I was about six years old, and we had a work book for reading and writing lessons, and she told us to tell a story about a snowman, drawing pictures in the squares on the left, and writing the story in the squares on the right. When she asked to see my story, she looked at the top square on the right-hand page and saw 'man so' and, a bit annoyed, so I think it must have been a long day, she said -- I can still hear her voice! -- "'Man so'? What does that mean? 'Man so'?" And I remember showing her the previous square, where I'd written 'snow' but run out of space for 'man' so I'd put it in the next box, and then I'd connected that sentence to the next with 'so'. (We hadn't yet learned about commas). And she apologised and said it was very good!

My favourite secondary school teacher was Miss Haggas, who taught History, and encouraged me to apply to Cambridge.

25. Who was the last person you hugged?

curiouswombat, when I was leaving writerconuk!

26. Do you wear glasses?

Yes and no. Until recently, I wore contact lenses, with one eye corrected for distance and the other for close up -- the contact lens equivalent of bifocals. But my eyes aren't tolerating lenses at the moment, so I wear glasses for watching TV and driving, but I have to take them off to see well enough to do anything else!

27. Do you have a cat?

No, but my (new) next door neighbour's two cats think differently.

When I get back from work or from shopping, they watch me get out of the car and then lead me to my front door and sit on my doorstep, meowing in anticipation. I have to distract them, quickly open the door, squeeze through a tiny gap, and then close it again, quickly.

Then they sit on my back wall with obvious designs on my shed.

And one of them, despite my brother's having sealed up every gap we could find, still has a way of getting inside to mark it.

28. Do you have a favourite pair of underwear?

LOL, no! Underwear with decent elastic and no holes is enough for me. I do like things to match, so I do prefer the colour of the knickers to match the colour of the bra, and I try to wear black with black, or white with white, but if that's not possible, I just grit my teeth and get on with life.

29. What was your last tweet?

I do not tweet!

30. Do you still use facebook?

I have never used Facebook. Or Twitter, Tumblr, or Instagram... Just LJ. And now, it seems, Dreamwidth.

Oh, and FutureLearn, which is a great place to make friends, and discuss what you're learning, and never get flamed or trolled (unless you get into a tussle with one of the 'Shakespeare was really the Earl of Oxford' ~~idiots~~ people). I'm starting Introduction to Forensic Science on Monday :-)

31. Do you like birds?

My first pet was a budgie. (I'd really wanted a dog, but a budgie was better than nothing). Her name was Snowy, because she was white -- though not albino -- and I loved her to bits. She looked like these:

Picture from Google.

I also helped my dad build an aviary. I think he must have bought a wooden shed as a kit, and I remember assembling it with him. My parents had absolutely no sense that children might be fragile or anything, so it would be my job to hold things in place whilst he sawed or hammered them.

Once the shed was complete, we fitted it out as an aviary. I can't remember its layout exactly, but I know that the far end, from floor to ceiling, was sealed off with chicken wire to form a large 'flight', and I think there was another much smaller flight on the right-hand wall, because I remember there was a little opening, with a sliding door, which led to an outside flight, shaped like a bay window, which we'd built on the side of the shed. It had a tiled floor, and a piece of tree branch wedged inside for the budgies to perch on.

Inside the aviary, there were some smaller cages, on the left-hand wall, for finches, and some breeding cages for the budgies, and, sadly, a little hospital cage, which was temperature controlled, and had a carrying handle so that it could be brought indoors.

Of course, it soon became my job to clean the flights, because I was small enough to crawl into them!

But I still like birds, and here are some bird pictures from this year's trip to Vancouver. They were taken with my iPad, which doesn't seem to lend itself to careful framing, so I've cropped carrier bags and people's bottoms out of some of them ;-)

The first two were taken through my hotel bedroom window. (I was in a different hotel from usual. I'll post pictures of the amazing views, especially at night, another time).

The rest were taken in the Bloedel Conservatory.

A little brown bird -- not sure what he is:

Two macaws:

Some zebra finches and a pretty canary:

We had zebra finches in the aviary.

A Lady Amherst pheasant and his budgie friend:

A touraco:

A cockatoo with impeccable table manners:

And a little mouse:

Apparently, the mice snuck in when some of the glass was broken :-)

Some Photographs of my Narrowboat

ningloreth — Wed, 26 Sep 2018 10:32:52 GMT

I've found a few pictures of the boat. They're old transparencies, which I've scanned, so the quality isn't great and some are a bit... well, hairy!

Here is the narrowboat Akhenaten:

It was 30 feet long, but the rear six feet or so was D's workshop, so the living area was about 18 feet, half of it sitting room -- with wood-burning stove, seating, TV shelf, and lots of bookshelves -- and half kitchen, loo and wardrobe/storage. The middle porthole (in the picture) was over the sink, so we could see to wash & wash up, the opposite porthole was in the loo.

The front deck was big enough for two folding chairs but, in the end, we spent most of our 'outdoors' time on the back deck.

The boat was named after the Egyptian Pharaoh, Akhenaten (Tutanhkamun's father -- that's him in my icon). I painted the cartouches; D did pretty much everything else!

Somewhere near Huntingdon, there's a viaduct, visible from the A14, and there is, or, at least, there used to be, a marina nestled beneath it. I've tried Googling, but I can't find out whether the marina still exists or, if so, what it's called. But it was a place I'd always loved and looked out for, as we passed it in the car, and, on our epic trip to Cambridge, we stayed there for a couple of nights.

Here we are, moored beneath the viaduct (we couldn't have had a better spot!):

It was a bit of a climb getting on, but I was a lot bouncier in those days. Here's another view:

That's the A14 in the background.

This is what we saw on our first evening moored there (it's a pity the photo didn't come out a bit better):

And this was the view the following morning:

I think those two pictures give a good idea of the magic of living on a boat!

Here is Akhenaten moored in Oundle Marina:

Oundle Marina was somewhere else we'd always wanted to visit because it was the home of CT Fox Narrowboats and, having been aboard one of their narrowboats at the Boat Show in London, we'd always thought they designed the best interiors -- nothing fancy or extravagant, just really a practical living space with little extras, like a side hatch opposite the bed, that made them really special.

Here, I think we're crossing the Middle Level; you can see how flat everything is, and all the weed in the water!

D always liked to coil the ropes, like a proper sailor. You can see the barge pole (which I think he made out of his martial arts staff) and the gang planks. Here's the life ring (which we never used):

That's a suburb of Peterborough in the background.

And here we are on Stourbridge Common* in Cambridge:

Mooring there was perfectly legal, and the Cam Conservancy were very welcoming and helpful. But the New Age community we became part of -- people who would give anybody just about anything they had -- were under almost constant harassment from the locals. (One of the guys, Jerry, once woke up to find someone breaking into his boat. It turned out to be an ex-soldier, down on his luck, who'd thought the boat was empty and that he'd be able to sleep in it. What did Jerry do? Sat him down and made him a cup of tea and a sandwich, then loaned him some money & looked after his stuff for him whilst he got himself sorted).

* The annual fair on Stourbridge Common was where Sir Isaac Newton bought the prism he used in his optical experiments :-)

Questions 15 - 20

ningloreth — Mon, 24 Sep 2018 12:38:12 GMT

After a hair-raising one hour phone call to Canada (or possibly the US -- not sure) I think I have sorted my ticket problem, except that I have now received several emails from Ticketmaster which don't quite seem to relate to the phone call and one rather dodgy-looking, misspelled one that says

There was some sort of issue with the payment. Contact first your financial institution to see if maybe there denied the charge because it was oversees? Then call us back at 1800-653-800 to attempt another try to charge the card.

Hmmm.

...

More answers!

15. Have you ever been on a road trip?

Britain doesn't really lend itself to road trips; there are few places you can't drive to in a day, though our roads are very busy so driving for several hours can be tiring.

I suppose the closest I've come to a road trip was actually a boat trip.

If I still have the pictures I took at the time, they're buried somewhere, so none of these pictures was taken by me. If I can find a picture of the boat in its glory days, I will post it.

When my ex and I first moved onto a narrow boat, we did a lot of travelling. We launched the boat on the Chesterfield Canal at West Stockwith Junction because there was a slipway.

Picture by David Morris from Wikipedia

D had built the boat himself, from plywood and recycled materials and, when we put it in the water, we didn't know it would float. Fortunately, it did! From West Stockwith, we travelled along the Chesterfield to Worksop, which in those days was the end of the navigable section.

Approaching the Town Lock at Worksop. Picture by Geoff Pick from Wikipedia

It was a difficult journey because there were few other boats -- I'm not sure we saw any! -- and the canal was choked with water weed, which not only clogged our propeller but also generated a lot of nasty gases. And we were still learning how to steer the boat, and work locks...

There's a four mile an hour speed limit on canals, so it takes a while to get anywhere, and it's a strange world. In some ways, it's very isolated: you can be travelling through a city, but you're in a twilight zone, down in a cutting, sneaking past the backs of buildings. And, unless the canal area has been redeveloped, the walls are covered in graffiti, the water has 'things' in it -- I once went to pull in a rope that had fallen over the side of the boat, and hauled up a shopping trolley, and that was on the river in Cambridge! -- and you try to make sure you're safely out in the countryside by nightfall.

At the same time, canals tend to run along the same routes as railways and major roads, so it's possible to be passing through a tree-lined haven, spotting kingfishers and dragonflies, whilst beyond the trees to the left there's a train hurtling by, and beyond the trees to the right there are cars tearing past. I remember, on our first full day on the boat, stopping beside a dirt path which led up an embankment: we climbed up to a petrol station, bought chilled drinks, took them back to the boat, and sat on the roof to drink them.

Important canal junctions, like Shardlow, where the River Trent joins the Trent and Mersey Canal, are often located in the middle of nowhere in non-canal terms, but they always have a pub and a little shop that stocks most of the things boaters need and maybe a few souvenirs, and there's generally a small boating community clustered there, even if it's only holiday-makers staying for a couple of nights.

Shardlow. Picture from Geograph, credit on the tag

Having conquered the wilds of Worksop, we turned back, returned to West Stockwith -- much more experienced by now -- and, waiting for the tide, launched ourselves onto the (notoriously dangerous) River Trent, and more or less surfed up to Torksey Junction, where the Trent joins the Fossdyke, a canal which may date back to Roman times, and from there we went to Lincoln. The country around Lincoln is flat, and the canal sits in a deep cutting, so most of the journey was spent between two green walls.

The Fossdyke. Picture from Geograph, credit on the tag

The 'Glory Hole' at Lincoln. Picture from Geograph, credit on the tag

Lincoln itself is a magical place, and we stayed there for a couple of weeks before returning to Torksey, getting back onto the Trent and travelling on to Newark, then Nottingham, and then onto the Trent and Mersey Canal and up to Stone, which is just outside Stoke on Trent.

The Trent and Mersey at Stone. Picture by Eirian Evans from Wikipedia

Once we got onto the canal system proper, we would typically get up at about 5 am, because D was always convinced that if we travelled any later, we would get rammed by another boat and sink, typically arrive at the next town by lunchtime, moor up, explore, and buy food and other necessaries.

After a few weeks in Stone, visiting the various Potteries museums -- including a trip to Spode, which, it turned out, wasn't open to the public, but where we were taken round like VIPs! -- we went back to Nottingham and spent the winter in a boat yard.

The following year, when we left Nottingham, we went in the other direction, up the River Soar, and explored the waterways of Leicestershire before spending the winter at Kilby Bridge, just outside Leicester.

And the year after that, our third year on the water, we made the mistake of making the long and epic journey along the Grand Union Canal to Northampton, along the River Nene to Peterborough, across the fen on the Middle Level Navigations, then along the Great Ouse and the Cam to Cambridge, where things went bad, but that's another story...

16. Tell me about someone you know called emma

WTF?

17. Are you reading a book in english class, what is it?

LOL! It's a long time since I've been in an English class! And, although I think the canon these days is rather different from when I was at school, I'm not reading anything that could be considered Literature with a capital L at the moment. I'm reading The Alienist by Caleb Carr -- which is slightly disappointing in that, every so often, he jumps out of the narrative and gives us a history lesson about some New York landmark, as though he hasn't quite worked out how to write a story set in the past -- and Oscar Wilde and the Dead Man's Smile by Gyles Brandreth. Next on my 'to read' pile, though, is Vanity Fair, so I suppose that would count.

18. Do you have a favourite aunt?

Yes. My Aunty Dot. And she is the only one of the three siblings -- my mother, Margaret, Dot, and their beloved little brother, John -- who is still alive, though she is very frail. Before they had a daughter of their own, Aunty Dot and her first husband, Uncle Eric, used to 'borrow' me and take me out for the day. I particularly remember a trip to Chester Zoo! We always had a special bond but now, sadly, she doesn't always remember me.

19. Baths or showers?

It's about 25 years since I last had a bath and that was only because there was no alternative! I can't bear sitting in hot water, feeling my scalp sweat!

20. Skiing or sun bathing?

Neither!

I think that if God had intended us to slide down mountains, He'd have given us shiny feet.

On the other hand, I do not tan! I go red, then back to pale again. I once spent too long in some very mild sunshine, went red, developed blisters -- massive ones on my face, about two inches across -- and then scabs, and then just went back to pale again. So now I never go outside without factor 15 on my face, and if I'm on holiday it's factor 50, if I can get it, and a hat.

Some Bonkers-ness and Questions 12 - 14

ningloreth — Fri, 21 Sep 2018 12:41:06 GMT

I'm not sure whether a person living alone in a house with lots of funny dark corners is bound to go batty but, over the years, I've often felt there is someone else living here too. Last night, I found my bedroom window wide open and, although many of the strange things I find are obviously things I've done myself and forgotten, I am absolutely sure that it wasn't me who opened the window. Anyway, the open window, and something odd in the bathroom, prompted yet another search of the house. In the roof, part of which has been converted into a child's bedroom, I found the little door to the rest of the roof space, open. I immediately closed it and jammed some stuff in front of it... Then I thought, as I was coming downstairs, "If there is somebody living in the roof, I've just killed him!"

One of the perils of writing murder mysteries :-)

(Now I'm thinking it must have been the wind that blew the door open, and probably sucked the window open, too, somehow).

...

I answered the following questions last night but, as I was about to post them, my computer crashed. It's been doing that a lot since a major Windows 10 update a couple of weeks ago. The Microsoft Support site says it's a hardware fault and that I need a new processor. I think it's suspicious that when I began typing 'Windows 10' and the error message into Google, it came up as the first option, just as if lots of people had recently been Googling it... Hmm.

Anyway, here's the next batch of answers, as best I can remember them:

12. What is your aesthetic?

I was going to say that I don't have one but, really, I think that I have too many.

I love this:

from last year's Debenhams Christmas catalogue. But I also love this:

Sorry they're a bit blurry; they're screencaps from Grand Designs. The house is built from shipping containers. I love things made from shipping containers. I love this, too:

Sorry, they're even more blurry! These are screencaps from Andrew Marr's Megacities. The house is Japanese, and it's basically just a corridor wrapped around a central column. I think that if the column were a storage area -- in fact, it's probably another house -- it would be perfect for me!

Then there are these houseboats on Granville Island, Vancouver (though I don't know what they look like inside):

and this converted public toilet:

-- it even has a little garden! And a converted church:

(though the church bit does worry me, slightly. I would need to feel that I was treating the building with respect).

So I seem to have a strong preference for living in something that was never intended to be lived in -- this blog shows lots more places I'd love to live in -- which is possibly why I find my house so depressingly boring, and was happier living on a boat. I would love to have the energy, the discipline and the money to do a Grand Designs.

As it is, my actual aesthetic is a combination of 'put up with what's there' and 'more is more'. The 'what's there' is a mish-mash of anything my brother, who owned the house before me, could get on special offer or recycle from a job (he's in the building trade). The 'more' is my own stuff, of which there's far too much, especially books, even though I've converted the small bedroom into a library, crammed with bookshelves. Here's the dining room on Christmas Day:

You can see the mis-matched wallpaper (which I will have to replace at some point), and also the huge map chest I inherited from my parents, stuffed with paper, drawings, and my mum's calligraphy. Not many people have a map chest ;-)

Here's the sitting room, also on Christmas Day. It's one of the two rooms I have managed to paint since I moved in, but the curtains, which are not to my taste but incredibly good quality, are original. I think you can say it's a prime example of the 'more is more' aesthetic.

(If you look closely at the second picture, hanging from the bookcase, near the bottom left-hand corner of the television, is one of kazzy_cee's stained glass stars, which I won in last year's writerconuk raffle!)

Once the mortgage is paid off, and I have some disposable income at last, I am going to have that brick wall-thing removed -- in fact, I'll wield the sledgehammer myself (at least once)!

13. When did you last pet a dog?

I love dogs but, sadly, if I pat one, I get a rash.

14. Whose friend’s parents do you like the most?

At my age, most friend's parents have passed away.

When I was at school, though, I used to go on holiday with my friend, Jean, and her family, and I got on well with her parents.

Their approach to holidaying was very different from my parents'. For one thing, Jean's mother could read maps -- in fact, I learned to read a map myself by watching and listening to her -- and it was just as well, because, whereas my dad stuck rigidly to the route he knew, Jean's parents would go off on little adventures, if they saw an interesting signpost, or if Jean's mother spotted something on the map. Every so often -- every few miles, it felt like -- she would say, "There's a site of outstanding natural beauty coming up on the left," and Jean's dad would stop the car, and we'd get out and have a look. At first, I stayed in the car with Jean -- who, being a teenager, thought it was ridiculous -- but then I thought, "No, do as the Romans!" It turned out to be much more fun. Also, every lunchtime, Jean's mother, with no grumbling at all (!), would magic up a packed lunch for everyone: sandwiches, tomatoes, apples and a drink. I've no idea when she made the sandwiches, nor how she carried them in her tiny backpack!

From Jean's dad I learned all sorts of interesting things: stuff about how cars work, and folklore, like how to keep flies away by waving a switch of elder -- he called it 'buttery bush' -- as you're walking.

The Subsequent Life and Opinions of Thomas Haxby, Chapter 1

ningloreth — Thu, 20 Sep 2018 08:23:02 GMT

It's ages since I've posted any writing here, so I've decided I'll gradually add a few of the Draco/Hermione stories I've written recently, plus the story I'm currently writing (and have been for over a year!), The Subsequent Life and Opinions of Thomas Haxby.

Harlots is a tiny fandom; I'm the only person on AO3 writing this pairing in English! The TV series is set in 1750s London, where one in five women, it says, makes a living from sex. It follows the adventures of a group of prostitutes, and its message is that, although women are always at a disadvantage in 18th century society, if they're willing to use their sexual assets, with skill and with some luck, they can still have agency. The women refer to themselves as 'harlots' as a positive alternative to 'whores'.

This story is a sort of spin-off, giving two of the characters their own adventure, which starts in the middle of an AU season two. It's called 'subsequent' because, in canon, poor Mr Haxby suffers a disastrous 'change of circumstance' at the end of season 1 (and doesn't appear in season 2).

...

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Thomas Haxby/Charlotte Wells
Summary: Mr Haxby is obsessed with God, eternal damnation, and Miss Charlotte Wells—though not necessarily in that order—and Miss Charlotte Wells is looking for a man she need not pretend with.
Author's Note: The entire story so far is already posted here.

Chapter 1: In which I experience another change of circumstance.

When Lady Caroline dismissed me, and then proved steadfast in her determination to be rid of me, I used part of my savings to secure a room near the Inns of Court, and found employment as a scrivener, copying documents for members of the legal profession.

The work is time-consuming, tedious, and poorly paid, but it permits me to pay my rent in advance, eat regularly, have my linen laundered, and allow myself the occasional visit to Greene's chocolate house to read the news sheets, enjoy a cup of chocolate, and...

My life would be quite tolerable were it not for my nightly torments.

…

Day and night, I dream of her.

Awake, I am distracted by memories of her voice, her face, her body; sleeping, I see her in my nightmares, naked, tempting me, until I fall and awaken utterly degraded, drenched in sweat and soaked in my own emissions, and still aching for her.

I have seen the corporeal Charlotte Wells only twice since the night she and I fought our last battle and she emerged victorious. Once, walking past Greene's, I spied her entering on the arm of some foppish fool I could see she despised. The second time, my work having taken me early to a certain part of the Town, I saw her returning, tired and dishevelled, to the house of one Lydia Quigley, a bawd who, my subsequent enquiries discovered, is notorious for her ill treatment of whores...

I try to banish Miss Wells from my thoughts, and return to my work.

“...some men feel their lust as hate,” she whispers.

“Leave me in peace, woman!” I cry.

But Miss Charlotte Wells does not know the meaning of mercy.

…

Tonight, I have a different dream.

I dream that Miss Wells knocks at my door and asks to be admitted.

She does not explain why she needs shelter.

She sleeps on my bed whilst I work. We share my supper. And then she takes my hand and, bringing it to her bosom, she says, “This is all I have to give you in return, Mr Haxby,” and...

…

I am summoned to the chambers of Lewis and Lewis, Solicitors, by 'young' Mr Johnson, the ancient clerk.

“His Grace has asked to see you,” he says.

“His Grace?”

“His Grace, the Duke of Malmesbury, whose affairs we are honoured to manage,” says Mr Johnson, enunciating the words as though speaking to a Bedlamite. “I trust you know how to behave in the presence of a peer of the realm?”

I nod.

“Good. Then comb your hair, straighten your neckcloth, and try to make a good impression.”

There is nothing wrong with my hair, but I run a hand through it to appear willing, re-tie my neckcloth, and tap on the door of Mr Lewis senior's office.

“Come,” he calls.

I enter, diffidently, and Mr Lewis performs a formal introduction.

His Grace, the Duke of Malmesbury, is a slight man of advanced years, dressed tastefully but unfashionably in a plain suit of chocolate-brown silk, his one extravagance being a cravat of sumptuous Flemish lace. Like me, he wears his own hair, tied neatly in a queue. His face is roundish and has a regularity that might make a fool think him foolish, but his dark eyes sparkle with intelligence, and with mischief in equal measure.

My impression is of a man who charms because he can command.

I bow, and rise to find him studying me. There is something unsettling in his regard; it is as though I were a prize animal he hopes to breed...

“Are you the Haxby,” he says, “that lately served Lord Howard and his widow?”

“I am, Your Grace,” I say, hoping he will not enquire too closely into the circumstance of my dismissal.

He appraises me again, and I begin to wonder if his tastes are natural.

“Mr Lewis tells me that you are the man responsible for copying my papers so meticulously, Haxby,” he says, “and that you recently drew his attention to a mistake in one of the originals.”

“I had that honour, Your Grace,” I reply, with a slight bow.

“Then I have a proposition for you, Haxby,” he says. “I have a library of several thousand books—some ancient, most of them recently acquired—family papers, maps of my estate, and so on, and I need a man to put them in order. I believe you would find the stipend generous”—he has obviously noticed my worn cuffs—“and there could well be another advantage associated with the situation.”

This last part convinces me that His Grace's tastes are not natural, though I fail to see why a man who could, presumably, afford to keep an entire house full of catamites would have an interest in me.

“You need not give me your answer immediately, Haxby. Consider my offer for a day or two, and make your decision known to me by way of Mr Lewis.”

“If I may, Your Grace,” I say, because, on balance, I would rather spend my time fending off unwelcome advances—God knows, I have successfully ignored, save once, invitations more appealing than a Duke's—than face a life of drudgery and slow starvation in a garret in the City of London, “I do not need time to consider. I accept your generous offer, with thanks.” I bow deeply.

“Wonderful!” says His Grace. “Mr Lewis, make the necessary arrangements. I trust that Haxby, here, can be released from any copying-work he may currently have in hand.”

…

The next day, I arrive at Mereworth House, the seat of the Duke of Malmesbury, having spent the morning packing up my few possessions and quarrelling with the landlord over the return of the rent I had paid in advance, and having travelled in His Grace's carriage, which he kindly sent for me.

My box and bag are whisked away by the House boy, and I am shown to the Estate Office, where I am welcomed by the Steward, Mr Bowles, who tells me I am to join His Grace in the Orangerie for tea.

I enter the Orangerie cautiously. My previous master, Lord Howard, often confided in me, and could sometimes be inappropriately familiar, but he never went so far as to drink tea with me. I find His Grace sitting beneath an orange tree. With his small stature, and his plain suit of a peculiar purple-grey colour, he looks for all the world like a benevolent satyr, waiting for a nymph, or perhaps a shepherd, to enter his grove.

“Welcome, Haxby! Take a seat!” He gestures towards a chair and, nervously, I sit down. “We are just waiting for the lady of the house—ah, here she is!” he adds, with genuine delight.

I hear the rustle of silk accompanied by light footsteps, and then: “Mr Haxby...?”

I would know her voice anywhere and, I am so surprised, I not only turn my back on His Grace, I cry: “Miss Wells!”

In all of my imaginings she has never appeared so lovely. She is dressed in a gown of sea-green silk, which contrives to be both modest and yet not quite, she is neither painted nor patched, but her cheeks have a natural flush, and her luxuriant hair, though uncovered, is arranged neatly, in a soft, simple style, with rolls that fall over one shoulder.

Like a simpleton, I turn to His Grace for an explanation.

“I gather, Haxby,” he says, “that you are already acquainted with Miss Wells?”

“He is,” Miss Wells answers and, knowing her as I do, I can see that she is as surprised to see me as I to see her.

“Haxby is to be our librarian, my dear,” says His Grace to Miss Wells. “And, in addition to sorting and cataloguing the books, he will assist you in your demonstrations. I shall leave it to you to instruct him.”

“Demonstrations, your Grace...?” I look from His Grace to Miss Wells. She has the most peculiar expression on her face; we are both aware that the boot is now on the other foot.

“Demonstrations of a philosophical nature, Mr Haxby, for His Grace's friends,” she says, as though that makes my fate any clearer.

…

“I hope you will be a good boy,” says Miss Wells, the moment she and I are alone together, heading for the Library, “and learn your lessons well, Mr Haxby.”

“Will you birch me if I do not, Miss Wells?” I find myself replying.