A Happy Hen Crafternoon...

If I work very hard, and I'm very lucky, sometimes I get to combine teaching and crafting. And it's brilliant. Today I was honoured to be asked to run a Hen Crafternoon for a lovely girl I knew from my school days. So armed with a glue gun, fabric, buttons and beads, needles and threads I set off into the Fens...

The bride had requested that her hen party made fabric flowers that would be put together to make her bridal bouquet. No pressure then. Zoe (our Pinterest savvy friend) and I worked up some Pinterest boards, narrowed down the colour scheme and fabrics, then I set to prepping and sourcing materials.

The prep work is also great fun -sourcing the right tones, finishings and trims over the internet and local shops, making up examples and writing up the instruction manuals. Each of the ladies was given a fabric flower as an example (with a handy brooch back to use again as a memento of the day) and instructions...these were in case we didn't make enough during the session and the bride needed to press-gang them into making more before the big day!

Then it was up to me to arrive just before the event started, to set up and make everything look pretty. All I ask for is a space in which to work, preferably a table and a plug! Once all the ladies were ready with fizz in hand, it was a quick demo of the two basic styles and then pitch in...

The ability ranged from non-crafty-but-give-it-a-go (resulting in an amazing lace and pearl representation of the male anatomy) to full blow ex-Costume Design students, so it was important to try and have a range of materials to suit everyone, as well as a basic design that could be adapted and made more complex.

The results? Hopefully the bride likes them -a stack of flowers in yellows, creams and greys with sparkle and pearls all over. I can't wait to see the wedding pictures! xx

Getting back...

I hate those blog articles that people write when they've neglected their blog for ages and then decide to put the work in again...only to ignore it. Which exactly what one of these is.

I've been working away at another type of job -and kept the Mrs B thing ticking over on Facebook. Let's face it, it's quicker to post pics, and scribble 15 words and feel like your building your business the speedy way.

Sadly that doesn't leave time for the contemplative stuff. The 'mindfulness' when your mind is actually full and the kids are pressing 'shoot' buttons on the toy tanks and screaming. And there are soggy cheerios stuck on your Macbook.

And then you have a couple of knocks (things that need repairing, a customer that goes quiet) and you realise that having opted for the speedy entry into the craft community, your resilience is knocked.

So I write a little bit again (with a toddler firing a micro machine tank in my ear) without any promises that it will be more, but just because you are here, and I wanted more than 15 words to say: Sometimes this is hard. Fitting creativity into set hours of childcare doesn't always work. Getting where you want to go is tough. And there are still soggy Cheerio's on my screen.

Learn to Crochet: Week Two in the big Granny Square house...

So after the giddiness and down-right naughtiness of the previous week, the ladies of Balsham met again and wielded their hooks. And you know what, the swearing diminished. Everyone managed more than they had the week before -and newbie superstar Kate picked it up like she'd done in in a past life.

Despite a torrent of colds, chicken pox and general January snot-mageddon, squares were made -some even in multiple colours which is ace.I think the first two hours of learning a new skill are often the worst -get over the bump of making your fingers do something new and it does click. And there are less grazed knees than learning to ride a bike.

To top off the local crochet craziness, I also gave my first 1:1 lesson this week -proving that 2 tea fuelled hours can turned a knitter into a hooker. We got through a good deal of swearing in Afrikaans ( I can be rude in a couple of languages now), fought off the cat, ate cake and sped through chains to colour changes.

I think this blanket is growing....

Things I've learned  about passing on a craft skill:

1. Use light or bright colours -mums meet in the dark hours when the kids are asleep, or in January light. Dark blues are out, you just can't see them.

2. Sometimes just launching in is more effective than the baby steps, and keeps you motivated when there is quick success.

3. Swearing (in any language) is probably just going to have to be acceptable;

4. When you have a good reason to learn, no one gives in.

Starting out with a hook -Learning to crochet

I led my first class last week, teaching a group of school-mums how to hook. It was hard, for many reasons. Despite the fact that I love crochet and I'm a trained teacher, I had to teach adults, people I know how to do something that I want them to love as much as I do.

In November a shining bright lady asked me to teach her and her best mates how to crochet in the New Year. I was meant to keep it quiet as it was to be a surprise, a gift.  It was in a car park, after the school run, it was cold and with a curly headed monster of a two year old and a grumpy six year old (it was too wet for the park) in tow, I hastily agreed and bundled them in the car. As with most crafters at that time of year I was snowed under with Christmas stuff and thought no more of it.

By the following Monday, that lovely lady wasn't there anymore.

In December, some of the other mums asked me again. I said yes, of course. Then one particular mum thought it would be a good idea to learn granny squares. We could put them altogether and make a blanket she said, for our shining bright lady's two little stars. Done deal I said.

So after some lesson planning (hide fear in the routine of what you know!), resourcing (quell panic through retail therapy) and a last minute search for multiple hooks we were good to go.

That first lesson was hilarious. For those of a sensitive disposition I suggest you stop reading now. Have you gone? Excellent. "I can't get it in the hole", "my hole is all saggy", and "why have I gone tight?" are the politest offerings. Pure filth. Told you craft was ace.

But after two hours of utter concentration everyone had something to show for it. My knees were knackered from crawling around a living room floor (now then...) helping people out. Teaching a fine motor skill is a tricky one -sometimes you have no choice but to take someone's arm or hand and make them work the stitch to show them the movement. Diagrams and written instructions are all very well and good, but it's muscle memory that sticks.

I realised at 2am the next morning I'd made one stitch too complicated -the 'posh' version of a treble, that sits nicely especially in fine work but made my students go more cross eyed than perhaps needed. We can sort that next week. I also realised I talk too fast, impressing my impatience at wanting to move on , hurry up, get to the next thing because it's brilliant when you can do it!

Five (almost) mummy squares!

Here is what we made. Ok, the mums did the coloured bits and I've added the white borders to straighten it all out a bit and prove that even after only two hours you can make something pretty. With class No.2 coming up this week, I think we might be getting well on the path to learning a new skill, spending some time with good friends and remembering a fantastic lady that hopefully would approve xx

The value of creative industries and creativity in industry (or, wind your neck in Esther McVey)

Sweet potato makes this a vegetable serving...

This week Employment Minister Esther McVey dropped the metaphorical coffee cup with her suggestion that young people need to take entry level jobs in 'Costa' before aiming for higher paid (and the suggestion was therefore 'better') jobs in management. In terms of getting the skills required to function as a productive member of our economy (punctuality, customer service, efficiency) she isn't wrong. But that's where it ends.

You see, the inference was that jobs in coffee shops are 'entry level'...'basic'...'low skilled'. And I don't think that this is the case. After picking up my friday morning treat (kids in school, crochet awaits) from my local coffee shop (The Linton Kitchen, go there, it's ace and they are happy to be complicit in deceiving your husband about how often you visit) I got talking with the lovely lady serving me. We talked about the 'McVey slur' on coffee shop workers and I can understand why she was so livid.

Firstly, it does the millions of people in the service industries a massive disservice to suggest that their job or chosen profession (yes, people choose to do this) is somehow low-skilled and not a long-term prospect. It infers that the skills required to be a successful small business, or even a thriving franchise of an international chain are somehow less valuable and easier to pick up than other 'proper' professions. It's also does nothing to value the creativity and understanding of community that service jobs in general require in order to be effective.

And this is my real point. I walk into my local coffee shop and there is an atmosphere that has been created by a team. People who understand how to work together in a small space, within a community to not only provide coffee, but intelligent conversation, excellent products that are tailored to a specific market, and with the flexibility to allow the use of that space for meetings, emotional chats, humour, post-school run 'make it better' cake and on a Friday morning, sanctuary.

This takes more than entry level skills. More than just punctuality. It takes creative intelligence to succeed, and increasingly it seems, we value this less and less. The 'Arts' get hacked out of the school curriculum. Students become assessed on their ability to complete an exam, the ultimate administrative task that praises conformity to a set standard and allows little deviation for lateral creative thought (I know, I've been an examiner!). We push our children harder and ever younger to make decisions about their career path rather than allow them experiences that might tap into unexplored talents that they are told won't make them money. We don't even teach children that when they are adults, there will be hours in their week where they aren't at work, and they have choices about how to use that time in a more fulfilling way than just think about...work.

So yes Minister, there is a need for the next generation to be able to be punctual, to get up in time, to be able to perform tasks with accuracy and diligence. But I hope that my kids will be getting up earlier than the alarm to go a job that makes that happy, that makes use of their left side of the brain and that treats all people, regardless of pay-grade and job title with respect.

Join the conversation -let me know what you think! Better still, visit your local coffee shop (you can post a link here and share their awesomeness) and have a chat with the folks that work there. And say 'thank you'. xx

The Space Between (or, that weird week at the end of the year)...

I'm sat surrounded by the detritus of Christmas -it's a mince pie leftover hangover and oddly I'm not bothered. Yesterday I was bothered; I threw pegs at my husband and it felt better. (I do actually throw things, usually inanimate, but pegs are a new thing).

I like this week. It's a time-gap somewhere between New Year expectation of a new beginning and the ability to have one last chance to finish what you've started. It's like being Doctor Who (ok, not like that at all, no Tardis, and think what I could get done with a sonic screwdriver) where you can shift between the almost back to work normality of your average week, and watching Scooby Doo in your PJ's if you really want to.

Nobody expects anything of this week so there is nothing to prove. My house is messy? Hey, it's just after Christmas. Taking up something new? That's fine, it's almost the New Year. You can honestly get away with most things in this one week which isn't a proper week and never will be.

And I like the build up to the next bit. The promise of another year to 'get my shit together and get stuff done'. Being a list writer, I want to write resolutions down, but not this time. I have a different plan.

Choose Motherhood (although at this time of year, one wonders why sometimes....x)

I loved Trainspotting...I quite like being a mum too, but bloody hell, am I glad it's the last day of term before the holidays. I'll be back in January 2014, but until then, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year xx

Choose Motherhood. 
Choose 50 unenumerated festive jobs alongside the usual weekly marathon. 
Choose a career ‘break’ which also means no office Christmas Party. 
Choose an extended family, each with their own interpretation of parenting style, appropriate tea time snacks and noisy battery operated presents, 
Choose a f**king big television that will only stream CBeebies so you can write 148 Christmas cards that have now missed the last post,
Choose stickle bricks in washing machines, Cheerios in cars, 
Haribo in compact disc players, and a tacky non-themed Christmas tree. 
Choose persistent poor health, high cholesterol 
and post-pregnancy dental woes brought on by a candy cane diet in December. 
Choose high-interest credit card repayments and the promise to budget in the New Year. 
Choose a dream home, in a magazine and stick it on the fridge as motivation. 
Choose your child-free friends and live vicariously through them. 
Choose easy to wash leisure wear and Tesco’s ‘Bag for Life’ as luggage. 
Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase 
in a range of light fabrics then let the kids loose with felt tips. 
Choose DIY projects that will be finished before Christmas and wondering who you 
are on a Sunday night. 
Choose sitting on that plastic chair watching ear-aching, tear-jerking nativity plays,
Stuffing smuggled in Smarties into your mouth. 
Choose cheering like a loon at the end of it all, 

grinning like an idiot with a tinsel hat, 
Nothing more than an embarrassment to the sugar-fuelled,
End of term-exhausted gremlins 
You have spawned to replace yourself. 
Choose your future. Choose life (it’s alright really xx). 

Hooking up with the Women's Institute...

I am just about emerging from the food coma that is a weekend at Denman College...The past 72 hours completely challenged my expectations of a weekend with the WI, and I'm left feeling much calmer, focussed and yes, full.

My friend (a seasoned WI member) and myself (interloper) embarked on a weekend Crochet for Beginner'scourse at the WI College Denman, which is located in the super pretty village of Marcham in Oxfordshire. The course was run by the ever-patient Lindy Zubairy, who was super all weekend, and completely tailored the sessions to the diverse abilities within the group.

A chunky sample = hook case

Neck Snuggler in a weekend!

And now a smidge of a confession: I can crochet. But NOW I can crochet neatly. And change colour smartly. And read a schematic pattern (the pretty ones that look like page tattoos for crafters). And make a 'Magic Loop' -which judging by some of the post-dinner, wine fuelled evening sessions could refer to just about anything. If you are a self-taught, book or youtube crocheter I can't recommend this course enough -I suppose it's a bit like finally having dance lessons after wildly throwing random shapes on the dance floor for years and wondering why you ache the next day. Going back to the start and watching a real person make the loops and chains, forces you to unlearn the bad habits you pick up when self-teaching, with the benefit of having that expert tweak and pull and point out the bits you've got wrong (and importantly, what you've got right).

There were only 11 of us around the table which made the sessions companionable and highly entertaining. There was a tense point midway through Saturday when hooks were thrown (yep, these ladies can get cross), the atmosphere was tense and we might have all ended up swinging from some seriously chunkyyarn, but by late afternoon (and more tea and cake) this lifted and there was a group effort breakthrough. Shoulders dropped, conversation contained less expletives and the gossip began.

Beyond the course itself, going to Denman as a woman in your thirties is a chicken-soup for the soul type experience. With two small kids I've spent the last few years reliving birth traumas, discussions about nappies and milk, sat on carpets and sweating the small stuff...and I'm more pragmatic than most. I realised by Sunday that the conversation that had nothing to do with the silly piddle frustrations of raising young kids, and everything to do with perspective and real life.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't surrounded by wistful reincarnations of Ghandi (although the 88yr old on the Flamenco course and who did her 'exercises on the bed' was clearly channeling something), but women who'd seen a lot, done a lot and simply stopped caring about what the world thought of them in favour of making their own judgements about the world instead. It would be fair to say that in both crochet and life terms, it was the kick up the butt I needed!

Top Denman Survival Tips:

1. Pace yourself on the food front. They feed you on average every 2 hours. It's fantastic, fresh, locally sourced and seasonal food and it just keeps coming. Save room for all of it.

2. Don't drink the coffee after 4pm unless you like insomnia. It's like rocket fuel.

3. Take your mum or best mate so you can get a room in the main house (they're all twin). It's beautiful and a bit like Downton with wool.

4. If at first you think some of the ladies are rude, don't. They're just upfront, say what they think and everything functions better this way.

5. If you're stuck with your phone, iPad, or Dropbox account, there will be a smart silver surfer in every group to help...Some appeared to be more addicted to Facebook than I am...

6. Walk around the grounds and the village. There is time to spare, it is beautiful and you need to work off lunch in preparation for afternoon tea...And then dinner...

7. Listen. These women ain't daft, they know more than you and it could come in handy one day.

8. Join the WI. I'm now on a mission to keep this up. I'm looking at the groups in my area and have been advised to check out a few to find the 'best fit'. Meanwhile, I'm saving my pennies for next year.

Have you just joined the WI in your '30's? Or been to Denman? Where you there with me when the hooks hit the fan? I'd love to hear from you xx

Patience -a virtue begrudgingy learned.

I am not a patient person. No matter how fast broadband becomes it will never be quicker than turning a page in a magazine or book, and even then, that can be too slow. Projects get started and then I get excited about the next, then the next, turning what I'm doing into a chore. My relationship with my smartphone is tempestuous and unforgiving -accessible, yet demanding, ever present, but not quite close enough to the information I wanted to have an hour ago.

And this is not good. It means I stop enjoying the hand crafted projects I undertake as they become to-do-list items to be finished. My success has become self-measured my the 'amount' I get done, as if quantity of 'things' said, written or produced validate me. This is particularly true since as of this week I am the most occupied unemployed person I know. I catch myself sat on the floor with my children making mental lists of the things I could do, or say, instead of doing or saying things to the two people who are present at that moment, not the imagined possibilities of a day that hasn't arrived yet.

Slowing down is next on my list. Not the laundry, or the cleaning, that can still be blitzed out of the way. But the space that's left for the things that are mine, theirs, ours, should be taken slowly. Harriet will not learn to crawl while I write a blog post or update Facebook. She needs my help. Sam will not suddenly wipe his own bum with the required precision whilst I am scribbling notes to myself on the back of an envelope. The blankets and creatures I make will not have the perfect finish I want to achieve if all the while I'm mentally engaged in an affair with the next ball of wool.

So if you see me a little less regularly, it's because I've put the brakes on, just a smidge. What comes next will be better I'm sure...But I might need a little help.x

Ranty-Friday: Does Facebook Make Me a Bad Housewife?

Aside from the fact that I think smart phone manufacturers are in league with Vision Express in making screens smaller so that anyone over the age of 30 will need a stronger prescription after a year of use, I'm increasingly concerned by my own use of Facebook let alone anyone elses. I'm not talking about the usual stories of neglect -how much time we spend uploading our daily life whilst it merrily carries on around us. After all, Enid Blyton abandoned her kids in their cots for hours at a time with only a teddy and jam sarnies for company to write about other kids she probably liked more. That's neglect, not 2 mins on your phone.

In the age of instant gratification, we also seem to require instant congratulation. My Nan (super-woman that she is) had twins in 1958 without the aid of the NCT, or an epidural. This alone should qualify her for free monthly deliveries of gas an air from the NHS just as a bonus for enduring ridiculous torture. She sent my Grandfather off to work with a cooked breakfast, lunch, did the housework, looked after 3 kids and went to work herself...And couldn't shout her highly praiseworthy achievements from the rooftops and into cyberspace. I don't even think she expected a 'well done' in that this was life and she got on with it.

Treat me like a lady...

So it's Women's Day...I really wonder how this is the case. Surely it's 2013? Women are equal? But what exactly does it say about the global status of women if we still need to have a 'day'?

I make no apologies or attempt to hide the fact that I'm a feminist. A domestic feminist at that. Chances are, if you think women should be afforded the same respect, rights and equality of opportunity as men, cats and gerbils then you are too. I make the choices I make because I can, because I want to and usually because I've had the freedom to make that decision all by my big adult self. Or so I thought.

You still won't (to the best of my knowledge) find women on a submarine. This is mainly due to the fact that if pre-menstrual, we can't be trusted to not go mental and launch a Trident attack off the Jurassic Coast of Dorset, annihilating the fossil potential and probably wiping out a protected newt population...This is bollocks.

My Fabric Family Tree...

I've been tidying and having a sort out recently(were hopefully selling our house) and I realised that I have something of a fabric obsession. It's genetic. Can't argue with it.

Then I got me a thinking about where all these pieces came from, and there were some good times...Some pretty icky screaming baby times too, but I realised I have quite the stash to pass on to my kids and family in the future. Nice thought that.

1. (Mum) Sam's Birth 2008;
2. (Aimee) Hattie's Birth 2012;
3. (Mum) Hattie's Birth 2012;
4. (Me!) Whilst pregnant with Hattie 2012;
5. (My Nan) My Birth 1981;
6. (My Nan) Hattie's Birth 2012;
7. (My Nan) My Brother's Birth 1985 (I think...!);
8. (My Nan) Sam's Birth 2008;
9. (Me!) Sam's first big bed 2010;
10. (Mum) Our wedding 2006:
11. (Mum) Leaving for university (2000).


I'm going to happily add to my collection (of fabric, not children) if it means I have a little story to tell. What's in your cupboards?xx

A Defence of Jam and Jerusalem...

A jam wall, physically fending off EU legislation...

So the EU (not content with investing time and more money into tackling the economic crisis and making delayed decisions about extraditing terrorists) have decided to pick on the stalwart, nay the backbone of British society -the Women's Institute. Although it's not just the WI who are targeted -anyone who has been making their own preserves and perhaps selling or trading their surplus at the legions of fantastic farmer's  and church markets around the country could also be at risk.

Their argument is not necessarily about the quality of the product within the jam jar, but the nature of the jar itself. Glass is apparently porous (although judging by my wall of preservey-defiance, some of it has been well contained without leaching for at least two years...) and therefore bugs, bacteria and other 'contaminant' nasties could get to the produce inside. Secondly, the lids might not be suitable for reuse, therefore questioning the sterility of the jar. All of this sounds a tad like scientific nit-picking that covers up the real attack -that jam makers are incapable of being scrupulously clean and hygienic when preparing their preserves!

The whole point of preserving fruit and veggies in this manner is to make them last longer. My mum has regularly told me (amongst other things...) that my Nan and Grandfather gathered enough fruit and made enough jam and marmalade to have a jar a week for the whole year. Why? Because to buy jam in that quantity to give your kids some tea after school is expensive! And at this point in time, with the economy in such a buggers muddle (EU take note) we are all a little stretched and many of us are turning to homemade fairs and markets as sources of food.

In fairness this is perhaps an unintended consequence of the economic down-turn -that more people are trying to make their own produce, to trade with friends and preserve what they can forage from hedgerows and neglected fruit trees, so that they don't have to pay inflated supermarket prices for a lesser quality product. I would also argue at this point that the small producer has the time, ability, and down-right pride in their work to ensure that whatever they put into perfectly clean jam jars is of the highest quality. I know that food that I buy at markets made by local, traditional producers has been done so with care and attention, and no, it might not conform to some marketing executive's notion of what ideal 'sausage size' should be, but it tastes brilliant.

So please, make your jam.Trade your jam. Sell your jam with pride. Because if we stop, I can easily see a day when I will have to take out public liability insurance to serve a homemade birthday cake at my son's birthday party, where health inspectors will be knocking on the door on Christmas Day to check the core temperature of my turkey and I won't be able to sing Jerusalem loudly without issuing ear defenders to the neighbours.

Add to the debate with your own jam wall pictures at Instagram #wijam, or share your rants (or renditions of Jerusalem) here or on Facebook!

Getting your feminist knickers in a twist...

I recently watched a great BBC Three documentary by Cherry Healey all about how to get a life (clearly looking for some sort of deeper philosophical inspiration there...). Anyway, the programme featured a group of female Cambridge students who had adopted the motto 'grow it, don't mow it' in relation to their armpitty-bits.

Ok, so I'm not about to go that far in the furry area -not because I feel oppressed, honest, it's just not my thing -but I liked being challenged about why women spend quite so much time obsessing about our appearance, and more importantly, who we do all of that for? I like being groomed, just as my other half can be found sporting some lovely Wiggins-esque side-boards, but is this an expression of who were are, or who we want others to think we are?

Before this got too deep and meaningful, I decided to ponder these issues whilst stitching. Women for centuries have been making excellent use of sewing circles, quilting groups and 'Stitch and Bitch' evenings to meet and communicate...This isn't all about the craft -the craft is a medium by which to interact, share information and stay supported, something which in this world of screen-to-screen interaction (about as tactile as clingfilm) we could all do a little more with. In the UK, the Suffragettes used to hold quilting meetings as a cover for their political planning, and produced some excellent quilts (in purple, green and white) as a result...oh, that and political emancipation... Tracey Emin has sewn some incredible quilts that catalogue her journey through life; not just something to keep warm at night, in fact given some of the frank realisations we may commit to the sewn form, perhaps quite the opposite.

So maybe next time you take up the needles and thread (or razor and shaving cream) we could think about what we are making (or removing) and why...Sometimes a message is no bad thing. x