Jane Brocket's Blog, page 11

river deep

I'm standing in the middle of a main road, water sloshing round my wellies at calf level. To my right is a car park  and wide bank with a picnic area. Still further to my right is the River Thames. Except at the moment you can't make out the boundaries because they are all under water, and it looks a little like Amsterdam with buildings reflected in water.

There's a photo of what's to my left on my Facebook page. We are hoping it's going to be dry over the next few days. This extra deep river is too close for comfort.

growth spurt

These are really large hexagons (6" across at widest point) so any top made with them is bound to grow pretty quickly. But mine have put on a real growth spurt in a short time, just proving (to me as much as anyone else) that hand-stiched hexagons do not have to take forever to coalesce into a quilt.

I seem to set myself some old-fashioned task around Christmastime such as needlepoint or patchwork which sounds madly time-consuming but turns out to be very manageable. Cutting out the paper templates then the fabric hexagons, tacking the fabric onto the templates, arranging them, then hand-stitching strips of hexagons before hand-stitching the strips together sounds likes the sort of thing ladies in Jane Austen novels might do to while away a year or so, but in fact this has all been done in exactly four weeks. And considering how much I love using thick threads and big stitches when quilting, even I am impressed with my tiny stitches.

It's been picked up, put down, carried around with me, sat through Whisky Galore! and The Dam Busters, several editions of Desert Island Discs, lots of conversations and a day at Persephone Books. I've now finished the hexagon part which I'm leaving as a large fragment, and am going to make it into a quilt. I'm quite reluctant to remove the papers which make it so enjoyable to handle - they rustle and creak, and make the top firm and stiff. I also like the back as it is with the fabric-edged white hexagons that look like a reverse honeycomb. 

So the moral of this story is that hexagons can grow quickly if you think big in the first place.

PS I now have a Facebook page, set up to coincide with the forthcoming e-book publication of The Gentle Art of Domesticity. 

also flowers in january

I was in a beautifully arranged second-hand bookshop yesterday with a heart-gladdening section of books about old railways and a shelf full of out of date but intriguing OS maps showing all the pre-Beeching lines. But I came out with a (v cheap) first edition  of Garden Open Today (1963) by Beverley Nichols because I discovered while browsing that he was passionate about winter flowers and plants that bloom from December to March. When I saw that the book contains a chapter on 'Firstlings' - a word that is so good - in which he discusses snowdrops, I knew I had to read more.

I bought BN's best-known books Down the Garden Path years and years ago when I was under the illusion that this was about cosy, modest gardening (such a cosy, modest title, you see), little knowing that BN was one of the Bright Young Things who had a series of smart gardens in smart places and plenty of hired help who did the hard work while he faffed about with putting mirrors under snowdrops so he could see the markings. Garden Open Today has a similarly gossipy, camp tone, expensive plants and several now-outrageous sections, but at least I know to read BN for winter inspiration and his way with words, rather than for down-to-earth gardening advice.

And he is brilliant on winter flowers, firstlings, early blue irises and tiny wild narcissi. He makes me want to enter his world in January, and grow witch hazel and winter jasmine, hellebores and cyclamen, so that I can prove that winter in the garden is not cheerless and charmless. Although he is so very different, for me he's the literary equivalent of Winifred Nicholson whose winter paintings also alter my perception of the season. Here are some of her delicate snowdrops:

[Snowdrops in Winter, Bankshead (1969) Winifred Nicholson, Peter Scott Gallery]

We don't have any snowdrops in the garden - we always miss the optimum planting time - but other people's are a fine substitute.

flowers in january

As Jo in Little Women might have said, January wouldn't be January without any hyacinths.

Mine never seem to coincide with Christmas. The bulbs I have forced in vases in a dark porch are only just beginning to flower now. But actually I really like this. Hyacinths are definitely more January than December, with their freshness of colour and scent and vivid green leaves. They are easy to grow in jars and bowls (although the Provincial Lady doesn't quite manage it) and the flowers are something to look forward to in the new year when they look particularly good with a backdrop of wind, rain and snow. 

[Hyacinths Mary Ethel Hunter (1872-1947), Salford Art Gallery]

It would be a wonderful thing if art galleries brought out paintings of January flowers and displayed them for the month. They wouldn't have to upset the main display - they could be by the lockers or in the cafe or entrance hall, somewhere they could brighten a day and act as reminders that January is not totally flowerless and cheerless.

[Hyacinths Sally Ryan (1916-1968), The New Art Gallery, Walsall]

I have no idea if this lovely Sally Ryan painting is out (I know the Salford one isn't - they are sticking to a very dour display), but if I were visiting Walsall I would very much want to see it. 

[Blue Hyacinths in a Winter Landscape 1950s, Winifred Nicholson (1893-1981)]

And I'm not sure who owns these blue hyacinths , but anybody who gets to see them every day in January is very lucky indeed.

I buy my prepared hyacinth bulbs from Peter Nyssen and start them off in November. But now is a good time to buy forced hyacinth bulbs in pots very cheaply in garden centres. They require no special care, the plastic pots can be easily hidden in bowls, and they last for quite a while.

omw, oml, omd

[my photo of one of the quilts in the book, made from deckchair canvas]

I can't bring myself to say 'oh, my God', or 'omygod' as they say in teen magazines and TV programmes, and I certainly can't text OMG with lots of exclamation marks, or do a Janice -style 'Oh. My. God'. But I could just about say omw (oh, my word) or oml (oh, my lord) or even resurrect omd (oh, my days - something I haven't heard in years). And I pretty much did when I was handed one of the rare and precious advance copies of Quilt Me! when I went to see my publisher in December.

I'm so pleased with it. It's a lovely size - a little smaller than the last book - and my editor tells me it is 'debossed with a sticker treatment' which sounds technical but looks very smart. The cover photo is one I took at a photoshoot; I didn't intend it to be a cover shot, but we tried many approaches before settling on this close-up which is just the sort of design I like. The photos inside are taken mainly by Catherine Gratwicke who knows what she is doing with textiles.

The official publication date was yesterday, but unfortunately the books have been a little delayed by the awful weather (they travel by ship), but they should be available soon. As for Amazon in the US saying the book is out of print, that is a mistake. It's very much in print, but just not quite in store yet. As and when I find out more, I'll let you know. 

hot and cold

A comment that has made me laugh was left by Suzy, who says, 'I...love it that sometimes you are a grump and you don't care.' Too right about the grumpiness and true, too, that I don't always care. I can't imagine writing a blog for so long and sustaining a constantly cheerful, positive, upbeat tone - it would wear me out. I imagine the blog would also end up being rather sickly and unreal. So, yes, like the rest of the world, I blow hot and cold. 

The contrast between hot and cold is something I enjoy (maybe even cultivate) at this time of year, but I'm aware this is only possible because I'm fortunate. There is never a day in winter when I am not grateful for a warm house and hot water, a fire and a kettle. Every time I go out on a dark, cold evening to put something in the bin, I think of people living rough and imagine how awful it must be (the Big Issue and Pret get my full support). I'm also horrified that so many people in Britain need to rely on food banks (it's very easy to donate money or food or to get involved).

At the end of every year, Simon and I go for a morning wander round Wisley and usually manage to time it for a cold day which is the best way to do it. This year, on a day without storms and rain, we saw it with a light frosting, when leaves and lettuces were outlined in tiny shards of ice. I don't know if this is technically rime or hoar frost, but it makes everything look delicate and extra-special.

Although we don't usually bother with the enormous glass-house (it makes our glasses steam up), at this time of year I do like to see the colourful orchids that are grown just inside the entrance. The contrast between the stripped-back icy whites, browns and blacks outside in the cold and the lush foliage and flowers in intense pinks and yellows and purples inside the steamy glass-house is wonderful (although, no doubt, extremely expensive and not at all green to maintain). 

I also saw these chilli chandeliers this time and have decided I wouldn't mind seeing more of these instead of tacky Christmas decorations in future. (Whoops, bit grumpy. Not sorry.)

Nature, the world, and everyone in it - we all blow hot and cold. And a good thing it is, too. While the 'glad game' is a good strategy for much of the time and Pollyanna is a fine role model in terms of giving to and helping those less well off, a planet full of Pollyannas permanently playing it would be too much to bear. 

provincial highlights 2013 (iv)

Best Owls: Leeds

Best Leeks: Saltaire

Best Window: Norwich

Coolest Pose: UEA, Norwich (Henry Moore)

Best Stained Glass: Edinburgh

Best Ladies Sign: Aberdeen (in a church)

Best Beach Huts: Hove (sadly blown about last week)

Best Station Clock: Brighton

And there we have it, my Grand Provincial Tour so far, in photos taken from January to December. Now I'm metaphorically back at the station waiting for the next train, the first of 2014, to take me to some underrated and slagged-off provincial destination which will turn out to have all sorts of gems and details and surprises because, after all, it is where people live and enjoy living, and all those residents can't be completely wrong to be proud of their home town. 

Thank you for reading in 2013. It's a great pleasure to blog, but even an even greater one to be read. I'm looking forward to 2014, and can't quite believe this will be my tenth year of writing a blog. But I wouldn't be here without you. Happy New Year and all the best for 2014.

provincial highlights 2013 (iii)

Best Punt-on-A-River View: Cambridge (not obvious, I know)

Best Fishmonger's Sign: Cardiff

Most Gruesome Gargoyle: Salisbury

Best Provincial Station: Birmingham

Best Glimpse Through A Barbara Hepworth Sculpture: Birmingham University

Best Steel Fence: Sheffield

Best Recycling Project: Wakefield 

Again, thank you for your excellent comments which are very much appreciated. It's also very nice to know that you haven't changed, and are still as funny, enthusiastic, and informative as ever. 

provincial highlights 2013 (ii)

Best Local Rag: Wolverhampton

Best Gallery in a Small Place: Chichester

Joint Best Station Florist (with Hove): Hull 

Best Use of Blue and Orange Colour Scheme: Liverpool

Best Ceiling Map of Antarctica: Cambridge

Best River of Forget-Me-Nots: Swindon

Best Robinia and Front Door Combination: Carlisle

Best School Gates: Glasgow

Best Imitation of Architectural Style: Oxford

Which takes the Tour to the end of June. (All the photos are in chronological order.)

If you've left a comment, thank you, it's great to hear from you. 

provincial highlights 2013 (i)

[Best Place at Dusk: Newcastle in January. The Theatre Royal on the spectacularly elegant Grey Street]

The papers today are full of 'best of' reviews for 2013 which made me think I should take another look at the highlights of my travels this year.

I've been up and down the country on my Grand Provincial Tour and it's been absolutely brilliant. The UK is packed with amazing train journeys, great galleries, fantastic art collections, wonderful architecture, excellent places to drink tea, eat cake, read a book, go for a swim, and endless, endlessly fascinating urban walks. I haven't written here about many of the places I've been to because I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all the material I have collected. I'm told that the guidebook market is dying, but I just don't believe it. If anything, this is a great time for unusual guides with a particular angle rather than standard, one-size-fits-all-travellers books. The comments section is open below if you'd like to say what you think.

While I consider the options, here are some highlights of my provincial jaunts. I still have places on my list to visit which explaiuns the lack of East Midlands highlights (ie nothing from Nottingham, Lincoln and Leicester). Just looking at where I have been makes me realise all over again what a good time I have had on trains, buses and on foot, discovering the riches and delights of provincial culture. 

[Best Discovery: Coventry. Nowhere near as awful as I remembered it from when I lived there 1983-4. Blasted cathedral window with remains of stained glass.]

[Most Sexist Memorial: Exeter Cathedral. Kindly shown to us by one of the nice volunteers - a man - who wanted us to see this breathtakingly patronising stone which informs us that Sarah Clarke's mind 'possessed an energy which does not often mark the Female character'.]

[Best Squiggly Writing: Bath. The Bertinet Bakery.]

[Best Winged Cherub on Whitest Church with Joint Best (with Oxford) Ionic Column: Kemp Town, Brighton]

[Best Chequerboard Brickwork: Reading. Joint best with Swindon and Wolverhampton for Most Vilified Place That Doesn't Deserve To Have Such A Poor Reputation.]

[Best Cafe Name: Didsbury, Manchester. Manchester is also joint winner with Salford and Stockport for Best Crocuses in Spring.]

[Best 1970s Mosaic: Southampton. Created by ceramic artists Henry and Joyce Collins in 1970.]

[Best Steps: Stockport. One of many sets of stone steps around Stockport Market. I'd forgotten just how northern Stockport is until this year when I really noticed the steps and hills, valley and mills. Stockport is also joint winner with Salford and Manchester for Best Crocuses in Spring.] 

More best bits of the provinces tomorrow.