Well, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but I’ve finally got around to recording my first ever podcast. Then spent far too long working out how to edit/convert it (the latter takes so long to do I had time to wind yarn and cast on a cardigan). In this first episode I… Read More Podcast!
My reaction to the news of the Grenfell Tower fire earlier in the month was, like so many others, shock, then heart-ache, then the desire to do something positive. To try and let those affected know that they are cared about, somehow. Donating money for support is the first obvious (and obviously useful) reaction, but… Read More Knit Two Together
Out of my window looking in the night, I can see the barges’ flickering light. Starboard shines green and port is showing red, I can see them flickering from my bed. I grew up in a small town on the Thames. Not the bucolic, pretty, pre-London Thames where willows trail in the water and stockbrokers… Read More Port and Starboard
What happens in the lambing shed one year affects the year to come in so many ways and what happens in the wider world affects the fortunes of those in the lambing shed too, but in that silence it was simple. We waited. A couple of years ago, at the farm belonging to my father… Read More Lambing Shed
“If I couldn’t walk fast and far, I should just explode and perish.” Charles Dickens For the best part of the last decade I lived in Cumbria. With access to some of the best walking country in the world and within the rather reduced world of being a parent to young children, I discovered… Read More Tinner’s Way
‘”But it may be fine- I expect it will be fine” said Mrs Ramsay, making some little twist of the reddish-brown stocking she was knitting, impatiently. If she finished it tonight, if they did go to the Lighthouse after all, it was to be given to the Lighthouse keeper for his little boy…’ Virginia Woolf… Read More To The Lighthouse
I used colour and string in many of the carvings of this time [in St Ives]. The colour in the concavities plunged me into the depth of water, caves, or shadows deeper than the carved concavities themselves. The strings were the tension I felt between myself and the sea, the wind or the hills. Barbara… Read More Porthmeor
