Twinkle Toes

The shame of it all. One morning last week I was caught short. I had just woken from a deep and satisfying sleep and was stumbling around for my favourite mug when the doorbell rang. This was very early and I was slightly alarmed as I could not think who would be on my doorstep at such an uncivilised hour. Handsome husband was not here to protect me (gone the previous night for meetings in London), so I grabbed the still slumbering dog (not the puppy) to accompany me to the door. I slowly unlocked the many bars and chains and peeked out while telling the dog to "STAY BACK", trying to make it appear that I was holding back a vicious beast, and there before me was Margaret our post lady holding a package. The dog bounded out pushing the door wide open and gave her a huge lick. "Special Delivery" she announced. Gosh this early, Margaret proceeded to explain that they had been running a bit behind due some industrial issues and they were therefore starting earlier to get up-to-date. It was then that I noticed her gazing down at my footwear and I suddenly felt very exposed and was reminded of the time Cherie Blair was photographed looking horrendous whilst opening the door to take a delivery also early in the morning. Naturally, I thanked her for being so super efficient and dashed back indoors, dragging the dog with me.

It isn't that I am concerned with the appearance of my body or hair, which I know all holds up quite well in the morning, or my silk nightwear and gown which coming from Carine Gilson will never let me down, it is my footwear, my slippers which really are something that I should be quite ashamed of, and I have been meaning for sometime to deal with, but have overlooked. I have been wearing what once were a perfectly decent pair of Cash-ca slippers but have been worn down to a thread and were looking quite unsightly, not very me at all.

The only slippers I have seen locally just have not been to my taste and I think they have mostly been aimed at ladies with very wide feet. I had become concerned that this matter would have to be remedied on my next return to London, nevertheless being determined in my quest for comfort and elegance I will never give up, and it is due to this steely desire for my needs to be met that I found exactly what I had been looking for in a most unexpected place.

I had been enlisted to accompany middle child on a school trip to a small town with an enormous Abbey, I have visited the town many times as it has attractive ancient buildings and a friendly and easy atmosphere, it also has a couple of boutiques where I have made the odd purchase. We had completed our tour of the beautiful Abbey and made our way through the obligatory attached shop when my eyes were drawn to something twinkling at me from a shelf of accessories. I have a weakness for things that sparkle and I walked over for a close-up inspection and was overjoyed and astounded to find a small selection of treasure from my favourite accessory designer, William Sharp , I have several of his scarves, hats and gloves, and amongst the booty were a pair of ruby red cashmere slippers emblazoned with a shining crystal star pattern. After my initial shock of finding these delights in such an odd place, I asked the volunteer working in the shop why and how they were able to stock these beautiful pieces. Apparently Mr Sharp spent quite a bit of his youth in this town and had been inspired by the twinkling prism of light from the old stain glass windows. How heavenly.

Now I am happy to answer the door whenever the bell rings, as I am assured in the knowledge that I will never ever have another embarassing morning episode and will always put my best twinkling foot forward.

Killer Cows

Following a hearty weekend lunch with our small herd and a couple of teenage visitor friends of our eldest chap, handsome husband and I felt a gentle walk with the dog along the river was the ideal way to walk off my over the top toffee apple crumble, and an opportune moment to leave the teenage boys to some washing and drying of dishes.

We kitted up for the cool, but sunny weather and ambled down the lane to the fields and the stream. I felt relaxed with the faint glow of lunch time red wine as we squelched through the mud avoiding the familiar sight of cow pats. As we turned a corner I caught a glimpse of some cows. Now normally when I come across cows on my daily walks with the dog I go out of my way to give them a very wide berth, and stick as close to the hedge as possible, I suppose I'm a bit of a coward when it comes to cows since I read some articles telling tales of vicious killing cows.

I mentioned this to handsome husband who being made of macho stuff said he could handle it and he strode straight through the middle of them. I followed reluctantly and ensuring I had marked my escape routes should they be needed. All was well until our naughty dog decided it would be fun to bark at the cows and try to play with them. Well what ensued has left me even more convinced that I shall never walk near cows again.

A large Guernsey, quite rightly, felt affronted by this outburst from the dog and began running towards her, this spooked a couple of nearby cows who in turn reared up and then also joined in the chase, they are faster than you would imagine a cow to be and I screamed which was no help to anyone including myself, the dog realising her folly sprinted towards the safety of the hedges, leaving handsome husband to deal with the chaos. I was glued to the spot in terror and watched in awe as he raised his trusty stick, pointed it at the cows and shouted loudly "GET BACK", and do you know what, they did and calmness was once more restored. We found our dog trembling and stuck to brambles in the hedge, when we released her she whimpered and bolted off with her tail between her legs in the direction of home.

Handsome husband and his trusty big stick come to the rescue again..

Farrier, a Loyal and Brave Beagle

It isn't all fun here, some of the things that occur are really quite brutal, but as I have said before it is the way of the countryside, and many peoples lives depend on it, and there are plenty of protesters around to stick up for the foxes, hares and other hunted animals.
Farrier was out with the pack when the hounds slightly over-ran the trail and crossed a minor lane. The whole pack, bar Farrier, crossed safely and picked up the line and hunted strongly onwards. Very sadly Farrier, who was behind the main pack was struck by a car on the road. The driver stopped immediately and Farrier was quickly attended to by several members and was taken back to the kennels by the Master and another member with veterinary advice being received during the journey by mobile phone.
The seriousness of the injuries sustained made the decision inevitable and, on arrival back at the kennels, he was swiftly and kindly put to sleep.
Farrier was already on borrowed time, last summer the members became aware that Farrier had firstly one and then latterly two tumours growing at a steady rate, and it had been fully expected that a final difficult decision on his future would have to be made towards the end of this season. The outcome would have been the same for any hound in that situation. No one was to blame for what happened and a hunting day can never be completely risk free nor can every eventuality be planned for. It is this unpredictable element and the associated risks to everyone that makes the hunt such a vital antidote to the often synthetic and hazard averse world that so many people live in.
Farrier would not have been happy being retired, the hounds rarely settle into a domestic environment after growing up with the pack, and they howl for their friends when separated. He was loyal, strong and brave and will be greatly missed.

Bid Easy

Spring is in the air which is a great excuse for a fresh round of activities, and what does any style conscious woman need for all of these forthcoming social gatherings but new frocks. I am aware that I already have some stashed away, so I felt it only proper to begin my frock project within the warmth and safety of my wardrobe, to see if I had anything within it that would be suitable for a birthday lunch party, a school shindig and an evening drinks.

After 2 hours of fashion scrutiny I came up with 3 possibilities, one for each event, however although they were satisfactory they did not express fully the gratification I normally feel when I know I have succeeded in garment selection, and simply conveyed a sense of 'making do', but I will never give in so I tried a different angle and began to look at separates, which are repeatedly overlooked, as the statement dress is often the easier choice, separates require considered thought of colours, fabrics, styles and patterns that work together, separates involve more work and creativity on the part of the wearer.

I narrowed my search down to three items that demanded I find another piece to finish the ensemble. This was going to be a very exciting project, I would require a jacket for some soft suede navy YSL trousers, a bright top for some plain black skinny Earl jeans and blouse for a velvet Ralph Lauren skirt. Where on earth should I begin my search? My question was answered when I attended a one-off charity auction in one of the larger cities here, which one of the mothers at school had invited me to, not a furniture auction, but one where elegant genuine vintage clothing was up for sale along with some small pieces of bedroom items for the dressing table, very much a female auction. I have been to a couple of auctions since our arrival here and they have been pretty informal events, this was considerably different with some eye watering polished ladies sharpening their Manolo heels to ensure they snare their target items before anyone else. We arrived in good time to register and to peruse the vintage goods which were mostly in pristine condition and I earmarked five potential pieces.

The sale was enormously exciting and I found myself completely absorbed in the tension of the room. These buyers clearly frequented auctions regularly as it soon became clear that some lots were completely ignored while others had many bidders, these women knew what was worth having and what wasn't. My first item came up a Moschino (mainline) navy jacket with small mirrored circles embroidered on the flaps of the pockets. Bidding began and with my heart pounding I raised my hand, big mistake, as I had played my hand to the women of prey who could smell my fear and my novice credentials. I was completely out of my depth and I was lulled into believing I would get my prize as bidding was slow and low, but then the big guns waded in as the jacket hit the price I wanted to pay and then quickly sored out of my reach and into the arms of a woman with slits for eyes.

My friend told me to wait until the last moment to bid on the next item I wanted and be willing to go 10% over my top price. So I was better prepared when my next piece came up a beautiful Pucci print shirt made up of all my favourite pastel colours and perfect for my Earl Jeans. I was patient and observed the other bidders more closely, the price had crept up close to my top price when I raised my hand, "Any more bids on this gorgeous piece"? the auctioneer boomed out, yes there was and a sinewy blonde raised her hand, I waited as the auctioneer looked over to me, I feigned disinterest and then he looked out to the rest of the room, no more bids, I seized my moment and raised my hand again, holding my breath and waiting. It seemed to take forever as he looked over the the blonde who shook her coiffed head, then "Going, gone" and he banged the hammer down. Oh joy, it was mine. I showed no emotion as I had not seen any of these cool customers flicker any clues to their enjoyment of winning, I kept my head focused on the remainder of the auction and winning the further objects of desire.

I lost one piece, a Lanvin blouse, but made up for this with a Chloe blouse for my skirt and was brimming with confidence. My final treasure was within reach a Chanel jacket (navy with gold buttons) and I knew that it would be sought after, anything with the Chanel label is always going to sell well and I wanted it, I had tried it on and was instantly in love with this gem and it had to be mine. To buy new, this piece of art would cost me close to £3,000, so I was prepared to go quite high on this as we all know Chanel rarely have sales. The auctioneer announced the jacket and the room fell quiet as bidding began at £150, there were two telephone bidders and I was actually quite scarred that I might get carried away and buy it at any price just to win, I had done well with my other two purchases paying less than I anticipated so had some extra in the pot should I need it. Very quickly we were up to £500 and I still hadn't shown my hand, at £610 the bidding had slowed and I sensed the moment was not yet there and waited. £620, from a new bidder with a rich ginger bob and glossy lips, a pause for a show of a hand, £630. Things were definitely slowing £640, no one moved, he looked around and opened his mouth to speak, and then I knew my moment had arrived and I raised my hand £650, ginger bob spun round and glared at me raising her hand, £660, I breathed and calmly lifted my hand £670. Silence I could feel the heat of ginger bob seeping out and I knew I had victory, I didn't move my gaze from the auctioneer who was looking round the room and he raised the hammer and said "Going, gone" bang. "Yes", I blurted out, possibly a little loud as several shiny heads turned in my direction, but I did not care what these skinny latte loving, salad eating women thought, I was overjoyed and beaming, I would love and cherish this jacket forever and give it it's very own special space in my wardrobe.

To ensure handsome husband didn't feel left out I slipped in a bid to snare a vintage Leonard tie for his own collection, and left the auction delighted that I had benefited from the day along with the very worthwhile charities.

Apologies

Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise for my lack of response to your comments and for my failing to comment on your own interesting posts. I have been feeling a little unwell (nothing serious), and had a little op on Tuesday, I shall return some time later this week, or early next week with some more tales from the English countryside for you. I have been gathering much material and it is all firmly lodged in my brain. There have been killer cows, a mouse in the house, and the fashion nightmare of a Mexican evening to contend with and to top it all the shame of sub-standard slippers, I only hope the anaesthetic doesn't do anything untoward to my memory.

MEET MONTY

Oh yes, he may well look like butter wouldn't melt, with those great big paws, that wet nose, and that soft and shiny coat, but he has, within 5 days turned my life, and the life of my other gorgeous dog upside down. I have done absolutely nothing except play with him, kiss him, sniff him (yes odd I know, but he smells divine), and have not done any of things I am supposed to do, I've fallen behind with my writing and I need a manicure, but I just don't care. It's love ...

The Thrill of the Chase

We received an unexpected invitation to the opening Point-to-Point of the season which produced huge excitement from our household as my eldest and middle chap have developed a passion for country pursuits and it seems that there is always something going on either following a hunt, beagling, shooting or beating all involving some form of killing or attempting to kill, all rather savage but these are the ways of the country and there are plenty of people around to protest and stand up for the rights of vermin which are the blight of most farmers.

Handsome husband and the small herd have all been kitted out with suitable country clothing for these various events and they work the country look convincingly, handsome husband looking particularly rugged. I however, have struggled as sludge green, the shade of all country attire, does nothing for my complexion and the box shapes of most jackets are not remotely flattering. My verdict is that English country clothing favours the male of the species whilst leaving even the most striking woman looking rather dowdy, perhaps that is why many of the younger women choose to dye their hair with peroxide, in the hope they may stand out.

In pursuit of perfection, I have solved the problem with ease and have the ideal combination of town and country and all thanks to some quality tailoring from Holland & Holland where I found a jacket of the softest and warmest cashmere I have ever touched in a deep cornflower blue, to which I added a silk twill Hermes scarf for my neck and all cleverly found in the same London Street.

So with clothing dealt with I only needed to concentrate on our picnic as this, along with betting on the horses is the highlight of any point to point and as ever ensuring my herd are properly fed and watered to the highest levels is a priority. I find Delia is the best help for picnics with a little input from Nigella and you not only have delicious pies, pastries, tarts and puddings to eat they also look beautiful spilling out of my Louis Vuitton hamper which I had purchased at a local auction (a tale for another time). There you have it the quintessential English picnic all set out and eaten from the boot of your car whilst sitting on your tartan rug.

We were not disappointed and we arrived just as the first race began and were instantly captivated as we watched these magnificent creatures jump hedges far taller than ourselves with ease and grace. We met a variety of people, some attending for the social aspect whilst others there very much to make a bob or two on the betting.

I left Handsome husband in charge of our gambling as he had done a little studying of the form, and eldest and middle chap were given £20 and told to double it. They weren't actually allowed to place bets themselves due to their ages, so they shrewdly roped in the Master of the Hunt who was glad to assist not only placing but also advising on where best to place their money.

Watching racing is fun, but watching when you have your money on a horse is completely thrilling as you can feel the adrenalin pumping as you shout, encourage and cheer for you horse as it takes the last jump and charges for the finishing line, and when you win the surge of elation is exhilarating.

We had turned our afternoon into a profitable one, our two chaps had won on 4 out of 6 races and handsome husband being victorious in 5 out of 6. When I questioned him on his expertise he simply gazed at me adoringly and replied that he had always known a winning filly when he sees one.

Secret Orders

Every week, on the same day and at the same time, the good ladies of the local Women's Institute (WI) gather their wares to sell. There is a cake stall, a savoury stall (pies, sausages rolls, flans and quiches etc), a vegetable stall, an egg stall, a goats cheese stall, a jam and pickle stall, there are also a couple of craft stalls, though no one ever seems to pay them any attention so I'm not quite sure why they continue showing up, and it is the the cake and savoury stall that have the biggest queues and the highest demand. All goods are homemade and I know from personal tasting experience are all delicious.

It is fair to say that I am often the youngest person in attendance so I can be pretty quick off the mark to ensure I get my greedy little hands on the items I want. Most of the buying public are women, and appear to choose their clothing on the basis of comfort dressing. Heels are definitely out, shape is out, as are jeans, and any form of colour other than grey which if it's matching your hair colour is not terribly flattering. I can ignore all this, but what I have found odd is how unfriendly most of the attendees are. I have attempted engaging them in conversation, but they are not interested and on occassion have been quite rude. One of the ladies behind the stall has implied that it is because I am a newcomer and not to take it personally. I'm not painting an attractive picture here but I believe in being honest and fair, which I discovered not all these ladies are.

I had enlisted handsome husbands assistance as I could not be at the market at opening time which is essential to avoid missing out as items sell fast here. I gave him a list with instructions of which stall to visit first to be sure not to lose out on these popular items. This was his first visit to the the market and as he is a lover of food he was happy to fulfil this task for me. We had arranged to meet at the market about half an hour after opening and as I flounced in I spied him surrounded by 6 women all looking gooey eyed and laughing and giggling.

Surveying the other customers it was simple to see why he was receiving so much attention. There is a distinct lack of gentlemen at these weekly events and the few that are there don't look up to much, and are mostly lurking in the coffee corner looking bored or having a snooze.

Handsome husband did not look comfortable and as I caught his eye, he mouthed "HELP ME". I did feel a bit sorry for him as having a woman who is 30 years older than you (around the same age as his mother) openly flirting would be difficult for any man to stomach. This was the moment where I could re-pay all the times when he has rescued me and gotten me out of one fix or another. So I walked over, grabbed him by the arm and said "There you are, I thought I'd lost you, now have all these ladies sorted you out"? I could see the panic drain away from him and he showed me what he'd purchased with pride. His admirers backed off and he explained that he'd commented that it was unfortunate that there was only one blackberry and apple pie left and that he would have taken more, whereupon the lady whispered to him that they keep some popular items back for 'Special Customers', and that if he wanted another one it wasn't a problem. He had then had the same experience with four of the other ladies who also told him that he could order items and therefore wouldn't need to be there for opening time and could come along anytime before closure.

Not once on all my visits here, had anyone mentioned this private little system, they were keeping it all to themselves, not exactly charitable. Handsome husband has recovered from his ordeal and has begged me never to send him there again, which I won't but I shall reward him for his discovery with my very own buns.

I've Been Picked

Although the weather may be grey and wet outside and many people seem to be suffering from different forms of SAD. I have to confess that I am absolutely beaming with joy. I like to keep up with what is going on in the universe, and I do not neglect the great blogging world as it provides such random and fascinating views, along with topics I have never even considered, and I have been inspired to experiment with cooking, taste new foods, look at styles of clothes I may have dismissed in the past. There is a wealth of knowledge and information out there and I soak it all up.

Whilst blogsurfing recently I came across a post from Shopping In Suffolk inviting anyone who fancied being published in her monthly magazine, to send in a post (old or new) relating to a selection of categories she had chosen. I was feeling bold that day, so I duly sent in two posts for consideration, and after receiving an email confirming it had been received, I really didn't think any more of it until last week, when I received an email informing me that my post had been chosen to feature.

This is a great big public THANK YOU to the gorgeous

Shopping In Suffolk for choosing my little post.

I really am supremely proud and motivated to continue writing as I do enjoy it so much. Handsome husband has been going around telling everyone he comes into contact with. I think he may have been exagerating as when I popped in to our green grocer to select some ingredients for my chick pea and pasta soup (perfect for the cold spell), and handed over the money to pay for them, the owner greeted me with "I hear we will be reading about your exploits here in next weekends colour supplements". He has such faith in me. Go on have a go and send in something to SIS right now.

Magic Cupcakes

The time had come for me to host my first gathering of ladies at home for the 'Committee', and I recently felt that all these coffee mornings are beginning to get a little repetitive, only on the refreshment front I might add, not with the company which is stimulating, hilarious,insightful and somewhat competitive in a discreet British manner.

Always the best china is used, as are the table linens which are neatly and accurately pressed, not a stain in sight, plates piled high with cakes and biscuits which are always homemade, and naturally, tea, which is mostly bags but occasionally leaves, although this does create all sorts of logistical tea pouring problems, so most stick to tea bags or coffee. Outfits carefully considered and most seem to be channelling a Jaeger look which is not really me, but fear not as I have found my very own version of country casual courtesy of a combination of those stalwarts of Britishness, Burberry and Mulberry (although I believe they are sadly no longer Brit owned).

I was really quite excited and decided that although I am now very much living here in the countryside that I would add a little London to my coffee morning, starting with the tea, and along with Lapsang Souchong, Darjeeling and Earl Grey I was going to add my two new favourite herbal teas in their girlie packaging from Pukka Tea, Harmonise and Pleasure and I was going to use something quite radical, mugs, not just any old mugs, but a very sexy variety from the esteemed maker of tea and coffee sipping accouterments, Keith Brymer Jones . I knew this would cause a stir, as tea is always served in cups and saucers at these events, but the time has come to shake these ladies up a little, and change can be a good thing.
I also made the decision to move away from the traditional cakes and biscuits and produce some vivid and unique cupcakes.

The morning arrived and I felt completely satisfied that I had left nothing to chance. I had decided to hold the main event in our drawing room rather than at a table in the dining room, and had positioned a selection of small Victorian side tables at strategic points so the ladies would be able place their mugs and plates down when the wished, beautiful bouquets from a nearby florist I found were placed in two of the window seats offering up hints of spring.

At the allotted hour the ladies began to arrive and after their coats had been taken, were shown into the drawing room which at this time of day has the sun shining through it, highlighting the wood paneling, lead windows, beamed ceilings and stone fireplace. A small fire had been lit and the room glowed. While the ladies chatted about the state of the potholes and the weather that had caused them the tea, mugs, coffee, milk and sugar and cupcakes were brought in to the drawing room and placed on my antique bureau.

I had decided not to serve, but invited my guests to help themselves and I watched as the chair lady lifted her rear from a newly Pierre Frey covered chair and made a dash for the refreshments, elbowing others out of the way to get there first. She was transfixed and I was unsure if it was in horror or shock or both perhaps. She gasped at the woman on her right and as I shimmied over I heard her whisper (loudly), "Do you think she made these herself"? She then grabbed the spectacles which dangled around her neck on a plastic chain and read the inscription on the mug "Sex+chocolate" she spluttered, "outrageous". The woman on the right then said "Actually Daphne, (not her real name), I think it's thoroughly refreshing, and you really must find your sense of humour". With that, I interjected and offered to pour the chair lady some tea and picked up the plate of cupcakes and offered them to her. She took her tea and chosen cake decorated with chocolate flowers and a raspberry coloured bow, and stomped off back to her chair.

During the remainder of the morning, much tea, both normal and herbal were drunk by my guests and nearly all the cupcakes eaten, many subjects were discussed and plans were made to begin the task of organising the Summer Fete. I noted that throughout the proceedings that the Chair Lady seemed less forceful than usual and others were allowed to freely make suggestions without being verbally slapped down.

Two hours later we were finished and the ladies all said their thank yous, and complimented me on introducing them to some new teas, and on acquainting them with the fine art of cupcakes. The Chair Lady was last to leave and after she had taken her coat, she looked me in the eye and said "That was the most beautiful thing I have ever eaten, not only the taste but its design, you are a very talented young woman, and I'm very glad you have joined our committee, you have much to offer, and although some of your ideas are rather 'modern', I can see that there is humour within them" she then patted me on the back and left. I am now quite chuffed knowing I have the regal seal of approval from our very own local Majesty, and that there is some magic dust somewhere in my cupcakes.