Georgian Embroidery Workshop ...

Last Wednesday I headed over to Osterley Park, where their lovely volunteers were hosting a Georgian embroidery workshop. It sounded amazing, and, whilst my terrible eyesight makes embroidery a bit of a challenge for me, I was intrigued to learn about a group of ladies who were keeping alive the skills of the eighteenth century needlewomen. Bravo to them!

As it turned out the workshop was on whitework, which involves white stitch-work on the finest and most delicate of cotton cloth to produce an effect (when done well!) not dissimilar to that of fine lace. With my limited experience and wonky eyes it would have been difficult to have come up with something that was a greater personal challenge for me. However, the wonderful ladies assured me that they would not be put out in the least if I failed to place a single sensible-looking stitch in my fabric. The object of the workshop was to learn, to be inspired and to enjoy.

The ladies leading the class had very kindly brought along their own favourite books on the topic, which they invited us to look at for some inspiration.

Ham House ...

They say it's haunted ... very, very haunted ... .

Ham House, Richmond viewed from the Duchess's Garden

And I guess if a house's been standing since 1610, just playing the statistics there's got to have been one or two residents over that length of time who were reluctant to move on - especially when the setting's as splendid as this one. So if you're going to go looking for spooks and ghosts and things that go bump in the night ... then this house is probably a pretty good place to start.

Sloppy Joe Sweater ...

If you’re looking for a quick, easy pattern that will just about knit itself then this baby has your name written all over it. It’s a super easy, knit-in-the-round (all the way up the armpits) jumper that self stripes so you don’t have to do much else to add interest to the design. I’ve gone all out with a simple open work texture created by double-wrapping the right needle on every 10^th row to create a drop stitch row that makes it look even more summery and beach-casual. 

Then on the next row (row 1 on the pattern repeat) you simply knit each double loop once to produce a row of extra long stitches that creates the textured open work. 

It’s conceived as a loose fitting, anything-goes kind of look that measures 20”/ 51 cm from armpit to armpit, and measures 45 cm/ 17.5” from the armpit down to the bottom of the waistband. I've knit it in Costa Brava Knitting's DK Bamboo in Cobalt & Lime. This yarn knits to a tension of 22 stitches x 28 rows on stocking stitch on a 10cm x 10 cm square, and I used 400 g of yarn to knit this baby. That's 8, 50 g balls or around 800 metres of bamboo yarn. It's a lovely silky yarn with great drape. 

Just read on for the pattern ...

Anniversary of Anne Boleyn's arrest

On this day, 2nd May, in the year 1536 Anne Boleyn was arrested on the orders of her husband, King Henry VIII. She must have known the writing was on the wall. Her nemesis, Henry's first wife, Catherine of Aragon, had died at the beginning of January, and Anne's position went from precarious to hopeless when she miscarried the child she was carrying on the very day of Catherine's funeral. With Catherine dead, and many believing that the marriage to Anne was a sham, Henry was free to marry another without any question-marks hanging over the new union.

At the time the Imperial Ambassador, Eustace Chapuys, remarked of Anne, "She has miscarried of her saviour".

 She must have known all of this at the time. She'd already seen evidence that Henry had his eye on her lady-in-waiting, Jane Seymour. A clever operator like Anne would have realised that she was fast falling out of favour and quickly becoming expendable.

Hever Castle in Kent, the childhood home of Anne Boleyn

Celebration of Spring Bunting

In honour of the season – and in the hope that it might inspire the weather to play along – I’ve been working up some spring bunting in the lighter shades of pale. I’m using Costa Brava Knitting's 4 ply organic cotton range – colours Rose Blush and Honeysuckle, which are so very subtle together. I've knit on size 11 (3 mm) needles to a tension of 26 stitches x 36 rows on a 10 cm x 10 cm square. 

Happy Earth Day 2016 !

They've been celebrating Earth Day, 22nd April, since 1970. It all kicked off in response to a massive oil spill in Santa Barbara, California in 1969. At first it was a bit of a fringe event, but by 1990 amidst rising concerns about global warming and the detrimental effect we were having on the environment, Earth Day went mainstream. Now about a billion of us do something on this date to mark our support for environmental protection.

It's co-ordinated globally by the not-for-profit organisation Earth Day Network, and has become the largest secular celebration on the planet. You can find out what's happening in your area on their website: http://www.earthday.org/.

I know there are lots of climate-change doubters out there, and folk who challenge the science on all of this. I'm not really qualified to argue with them, but it seems to me to be an issue that's just too big for us to gamble on. The downside of getting it wrong, for the sake of our children and the world we leave behind, is just too terrible to think about.

So for Earth Day 2016 here's my own little collage of favourite moments from the last 12 months, by way of celebrating Mother Earth and her rich bounty.

All the best for now and Happy Earth Day!

Bonny x

Ode to the Costa Brava poppy ...

If there's one flower that really makes my heart sing it's the wild field poppy. Here on the Costa Brava there are millions of them, all over the shop, dancing in the breeze, and looking splendid in the warm spring sunshine. To me they represent pure joy.

The Platja de la Fonollera i Mas Pinell ... a heavenly beach

The other day Emi and I were in Pals. We hadn't gone there for anything in particular. It had just occurred to us that it would be a good place to take the WonderDog for his afternoon stroll. As it happens Pals is the most amazing town you could ever hope to visit, but the thing is once you're there, inside the town, you tend not to look beyond its walls. Everything inside is stunning, so why would you? Well I was standing on the terrace by the 11th century Torre de les Horres waiting for Emi to finish buying a (toy!) sword in one of the tourist shops when my eye was drawn to these amazing islands, sitting on the horizon, just off the coast.

They were stunning in the afternoon sunshine. I was amazed as to how I'd manage to miss them before. I've been to Pals more times than I can count. I've wandered around with my camera clenched to my face taking photos of everything, but I've never actually looked outside of the wonderful little town I was visiting. And just look what I missed over there on the seaward horizon!

Emi and the WonderDog were amenable to going on a wild goose chase in search of the islands, so we all piled into the car and headed off in the direction of Platja de Pals, the official town beach, which is some little distance removed from the town itself.

Torroella de Montgrí ... now that's what I call a castle ...

Do you like to climb mountains?

I love, love, love the mountains. In an earlier pre-being-a-mum incarnation I used to do proper climbing with ropes and harnesses and all that jazz. Mr B, however, is not a mountain man. He's a city boy, hates heights and doesn't understand why anyone in their right mind would want to scale a mountain just to have to come down again. He doesn't get it. 

Ten year-old Emi, on the other hand, does get it. He loves the challenge of a good climb. At a recent family lunch, in the shadow of Montgrí, I casually suggested to Mr B and the in-laws that we should climb the mountain to work off some of the calories we'd just consumed. They all fell about laughing. What a crazy idea, but Emi was totally up for it. Like mother, like son.

And, here's the thing, just look what's up at the top of Montgrí. Now that's what I call a castle ...

Torroella de Montgrí Castle

The Octopus's Garden ...

Do you know the Beatles' song the Octopus's Garden ?

It's a real classic. Well here's the thing: I think I've found it. No, seriously, I know just the spot. It's hidden in the shallows in a rather splendid little cove, called Cala Pedrosa, where we like to go rock-pooling.

Cala Pedrosa, Costa Brava

 Do you see how clear the water is? And it's full of life. There are countless types of seaweed, creating dark underwater forests where the Costa Brava sun can scarcely penetrate. It's the perfect place for any right-thinking Octopus to have his garden in the shade.

Before and after ...

Maxi, the WonderDog, has been sporting uncharacteristically long hair recently. Given his Easter trip up to the snowy mountains of Andorra I didn't have the heart to trim his furry pyjamas in case he caught a chill, so he's been looking like a bit of a hippy.

Love locks ...

I'm not sure where, or when, this craze started. The first I became aware of it was when the newspapers reported that the Pont des Arts in Paris was in danger of collapsing under the weight of love locks that had been attached to it by starstruck lovers. They'd come to the bridge - literally hundreds of thousands of them - bearing padlocks on which they'd had their first names engraved. They then attached these padlocks to the metal structure of the bridge and threw the key into the Seine in a grandiloquent gesture intended to symbolise their unbreakable bond/ never-ending love for one another. Parts of the bridge collapsed in 2014 under the weight of all this sentimental nonsense, and during 2015 it was estimated that over a million further padlocks were attached to the bridge adding an extra 45 tonnes to its load, and threatening to make it collapse into the Seine.

In a roundabout sort of way ...

Our local airport, here on the sunny Costa Brava, is Girona-Costa Brava Airport. It opened in 1965, but only had modest numbers of passengers until a certain Tony Ryan decided to use it as one of his airline's major European hubs. Well, after that, it was boom time for the Aeropuerto de Girona-Costa Brava, and they've never looked back since.

It's still got a fairly rural feel to it as international airports go. The rush hour is often held back by the odd tractor or combine harvester, depending on the time of the year. Recently there's been a rush of civic pride in the local villages as they seek to announce their specialities to the visiting tourists. And they've taken a rather quaint and very unique way of doing this.

On the big roundabout, on the approach to the airport, at Cassà de la Selva they've got some rather large Cava corks, which seem to suggest that they've got a rather splendid drink to quench your thirst after all that travelling. Well in fact it's not so much the drink as the corks that they're wanting to tell us about. The village is surrounded by cork trees, and back in the day it was one of the major centres where they made corks for wine bottles. Nifty, eh?

Cassà de la Selva, Girona

Feeling hungry in La Boqueria, Barcelona ...

The other day I had to go down to Barcelona for a meeting. As luck would have it the venue was just beside Barcelona's totally sensational La Boqueria market. Afterwards I needed somewhere to stop off for lunch with Emi and Mr B, who had driven me down. It would have seemed churlish not to pop into this wonderful foodie's paradise for sustenance, so this is where we ended up.

Mercat de Sant Josep de la Boqueria,

Spring is springing ...

Here, on the sunny Costa Brava, Spring arrives a little earlier than it does back in London. And there are already lots of signs that things are heading in the right direction. In the evenings, after the day's work is done, there are more and more people taking a stroll across the sand on the village beach.

The South Wind, the Migjorn, has been blowing in from the sea bringing us foggy mornings and sunny afternoons, and carrying with it the promise of warmer summer days to come. Hurrah!

April Fool ...

Happy April Fool's Day!

Has anyone caught you yet?

I played a joke on Emi and Mr B yesterday afternoon. The WonderDog and I had gone off on a little saunter over the cliff so that he could attend to his afternoon toilet business. Such jaunts are commonly referred to here in Talk-a-Lot-Towers as Pooh Patrol, and we've even got a ridiculous little song we sing about going on Po-o-o-oh Patrol. The WonderDog, who is clearly a connoisseur of fine music, always recognises the opening bars of the song (as distinct from all the other silly songs we've made up) and gets himself ready at the door for the off.

Anyway, I digress. After our jaunt over the cliffs I came in clutching one of the WonderDog's pooh bags, that was bursting, absolutely full to capacity. It looked as though I'd been picking up after a bull elephant who'd spent the last fortnight with an intestinal blockage that had only been released that very afternoon.

Look what Maxi did! I said, holding my trophy aloft.

They looked at me ashen-faced. How could such a small dog produce such a huge quantity of poop?

And then Emi asked me to show him the contents ...

Well, the game was up. I'd filled it full of pine cones for lighting the fire. When it gets cold of an evening we like to have a fire in the sitting room, and the dried pine cones from those lovely Costa Brava pine trees, are the prefect things to get the flames started. And then, once it's going, they give out a lovely fresh pine fragrance that's become the very smell of home.

Still, my ruse was good while it lasted.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

The joy of reading ... when you're 10

We're having some very strange weather here in (usually) sunny Sant Feliu de Guíxols. Our early mornings are foggy with strange, dense mists blowing in from the sea. They burn off as the day goes on, but every morning when I open my shutters I find myself staring out into a real pea souper. It appeals to my inner sense of drama, and makes me wonder what mysteries might be concealed behind that wall of white ...

And during those foggy mornings, when he can't go out exploring with his faithful hound, young Emi has been spending his time reading this wonderful book, One dog and his boy, by Eva Ibbotson. It's a great tale of derring do, about one boy's battle with his over-bearing parents to keep a little dog called Fleck.

Red Letter Paella Day ...

Today was a Red Letter Paella Day. Back home in sunny Sant Feliu de Guíxols there's nothing quite like paella de mariscos to keep the troops happy. It's the very taste of home.

And while I was working away in the kitchen I listened to a really interesting podcast by Jerry Brotton for the BBC History Magazine. He's just published a book This Orient Isle about the influence of Islam on Elizabethan England, focussing on how Elizabeth forged alliances with the great Islamic Empires of the day after she was excommunicated by the Pope, and how this, in turn, impacted upon English society. I've not yet read the book, but he wrote a great article on the subject for the March edition of the BBC History Magazine, and the podcast (link attached: Muslims and Jews in 16th Century England) is well worth listening to. It's such an interesting angle on a fascinating period of history.

All the best for now,

Bonny x

Happy Easter ...

... from the snowy mountains of Andorra.

Emi striding out with Victor, his ski instructor at Vall Nord

We're celebrating Easter with a helping of the white stuff. We've been spending our days skiing, and then coming back into town for the most amazing spa-pampering and fabulous food. And, of course, after all the calories we burn off up the mountain we can really tuck in and enjoy ourselves.

the cheesemonger and his tomb in the leafy churchyard of St. Mary's, Ealing ...

When I'm going to South Ealing tube station I often take a shortcut past the allotments, and down the side of St. Mary's churchyard. St Mary's is a rather lovely old church. Most of the building dates from the eighteenth century with later Victorian and twentieth century additions.

 Now I have to 'fess up: I've always been fascinated by churchyards. To me they represent libraries filled with the life-stories of those interred within, all laid out and filed in a random system of headstones and tombs. 

And there's one large, distinguished-looking family vault, resting in a prime position just beside the wall of St Mary's church that's always made me pause.

The family name, Strudwick, sounded very solid and English and respectable to my Irish ears. And I've always wondered about the patriarch lying within, surrounded by several of his nearest and dearest. His rather succinct inscription reads: 

William Strudwick died December 30 1829 aged 60 years

The other morning I had to wait around for some workmen. I couldn't get on with any proper work of my own. But I had my laptop and an internet connection. So, to while away the time, I decided to do a little on-line detective work to see what I could unearth about this William Strudwick. 

Gravity-defying trees ... and the myth of life-long fidelity in mandarin ducks ...

Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky, Khalil Gibran

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

The White Lough, County Tyrone

Top of the morning to you all! And a very happy St. Patrick's Day!

It's a bit weird, but we celebrate the good Saint's day on the anniversary of the day on which he is believed to have died: his death day.

Probably best not to dwell too much on the idea of a death day, can't see them catching on myself ...

All the best for now,

Bonny x