Monday, April 25, 2016

We are still not amused.

Last weekend we visited friends who have just made the move from city to country. It was lovely to share in their excitement, to oooh and ahhh about drifts of daffodils and clumps of hellebores, fruit trees in blossom, clipped yew hedges.... slippery paths, crumbling entrance gates, ivy covered walls and neglected woodland.

Their emotions will fluctuate.

An owl hoot at dusk takes your breath away. But, trying to contact plumbers, tree surgeons, telephone engineers and bricklayers whilst still waiting to be connected to the internet leaves one struggling for air.

We should know.

Having moved here over a decade ago we thought we were old hands. Except, since a dramatic hailstorm ten days ago we have had no internet nor phone connection. We are blue in the face, and can empathise completely with newly arrived Jane and Ben.

Welcome to country life, inhale slowly and focus on the horizon.

“I found the poems in the fields
And only wrote them down”
John Clare (1793-1864)

I'm delighted that "Rapeseed Ripple" (above) will be for sale over the Bank Holiday weekend at Art for Cure with all the proceeds going to the very well deserved charity. Lots going on at a wonderful venue... definitely a date for your diary.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

"We are not amused"

My Queen Victoria mug plays host to jolly primulas,
who are not amused, by frequent April showers.

Now just suppose you find yourself in Herefordshire, and too, are displeased with the rain, you will be very welcome to seek shelter at the Old Chapel Gallery where you can see some more of my watercolours alongside lots more beautiful contemporary artwork!

Monday, April 4, 2016


What a heady couple of days! 
A real burst of spring sunshine. Perfect conditions for gardening and bread making; which should never go hand in hand of course. I have lost count of the number of times this weekend I have interrupted my weeding, to unlace muddy boots, scrub my nails, then shape a ciabatta or check the plumpness of a hot cross bun. 

I have sown seeds, grubbed out brambles and divided perennials to the repetitive warble, whoop and twitter of happy bird song. Fat bumble bees have been flying loop the loop in the sunlight. Fingers crossed they found the broad beans that have been in flower since February and the plum blossom in the orchard.
My son tackled the jobs I have been trembling at for years. Those requiring a pickaxe, a drill and the energy of a teenager. 

For all the ebullience of spring, however, I am going to miss the criss-cross outlines of winter which have become so familiar. The generous outstretched arms of the oak, the clatter of poplar branches in the wind, and the matronly willow stripped down to her crinoline.