Oh Who Is That young Sinner...........

Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
In the good old time 'twas hanging for the colour that it is;
Though hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair
For the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.

Oh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they're haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.

Now 'tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet
And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
And between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
He can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.


Now, that's a poem by A.E. Housman, written in 1895 in disgust at the imprisonment of Oscar Wilde for 'giving homosexual offence'.

But, it can apply to any form of predjudice. Indeed, it can be literally applied today, when, sadly, there is so much offence given to people with red hair, 'ging-ers' as they're disparagingly called.
Why there should be such a current upswelling of dislike against red-heads completely dumbfounds me.
Ah well, perhaps the fact that one of the stars of the Harry Potter films is a red-head may go a little way to changing people's perspective. In today's world of 'celebrity' stranger things have happened.....................

New additions to my Folksy shop

As expected, I've had lots of spare time following surgery, and these are just some of the items I've made for my Folksy shop. (link down on the right-hand side). There's more to come, but I'm waiting for a delivery of gift boxes.
I'm a great believer in supplying items, especially jewellery, properly packaged, ready to give as a gift.

a pair of Christmas bangles in festive colours. Wear individually, or as a pair.

Autumnal necklace, with large detailed brown wooden beads, interspersed with small orange and brown beads, and strung on threads of silver-lined crystal-clear rocailles

A pair of embroidered Christmas gift bags. Sturdily made in cream cotton, with carrying handles

4 table mats or napkins, each measuring approximately 14" square, hand embroidered with sunflowers and with fringed edges

Delicate necklace of brecciated jasper, peridots and emerald green rocailles. The necklace is gently curved, so that it sits flat against the skin
Pretty silver-plate chain maille bracelet, with pretty pink facets at the heart of each flower

I made this necklace with Halloween in mind, as the pendant reminds me of a vial half full of blood!

Zodiac necklace for Cancer, featuring a ceramic plate mounted on a silver disc, and with the silver chain enhanced with matching beads

This Zodiac necklace is for Leo, and is made in much the same way as the one above

Big, bold, chunky monochrome necklace, which is tied with deep red and cream ribbons. Being monochrome, the ribbons can easily be changed to match your outfit

Tiger striped beads matched with big black pearls and mounted on silver for this matching bracelet and earrings.

As I said, they're all available in my Folksy shop. If you are outside the UK and would like to buy anything, just contact me, and I'll sort out postal charges etc.

Marco Simoncelli

Today was the funeral of Marco Simoncelli, the young MotoGP star who took the world by storm this season.

Already a double world champion in lower classes, this season saw the 24 year old Italian rock the top professional class, with his spirited riding, flamboyant appearance, and general demeanour in the paddocks and on the tracks.

Debating whether the terrible accident which cost him his life was his fault, or if Colin Edwards and Valentino Rossi could have done anything to avoid hitting him (in my opinion, they couldn't), serves no purpose. A young man who has brought pleasure to millions around the world, is now lost to us.

I've nothing more to say on the subject, I'm just going to let this superlative picture speak volumes

Should I, or shouldn't I?

As you will already have read, I've opened up an internet shop to market my handmade jewellery and stuff.

Reading through the advice they give you, they recommend that you start a blog, to widen your market, and to help prospective buyers to get to know you. I was going to, but then I thought, I've already got 2 blogs going, and if one of the reasons is to help folk get to know you, then this blog probably says it all about me.

Quite what they'll make of me when they read this blog, I'm not sure..............

Anyway, the link to my shop is over there on the right, but here's a taster of a couple of items




I do seem to be having more success with these big, bold bracelets than some other items, but I shall keep trying new ideas. After all, this little venture is to amuse myself as much as to make money

Update on me, my bikes, and stuff..............

Well, thank goodness that's over with! I'm now at home resting, minus one very damaged gall bladder, and with an abdomen full of holes and stitches!

So, what else has happened since I last posted on here? Oh yes - me and the Insect took a little trip to North Wales. We stayed, as usual, with Chris and Sue at the Castle Inn in Knucklas. Wouldn't dream of staying anywhere else!

I'll spare you the endless photographs, and trip details, as I've already updated 'My British Isles' (my other blog). However, a little tale concerning poorly Insects, big dams and the RAC now follows.................

Given decent weather, there's nothing I like better than heading for the Elan Valley. Somehow, however, I've never had the time to head out to the Claerwen dam. This lies off the Elan Valley Trail, down a separate valley, and basically, you go there and come back, because it's a dead-end road. The dam lies at the head of the valley, some 7.5 miles or so out of Rhayader.

The largest and most impressive of the five Elan Valley Dams, Claerwen dam holds back 48,300 megalitres of water, and I guess it's about 200 feet high. When you get there, the road divides - the left fork takes you to the base of the dam, and the right fork takes you to the top, where you can actually ride across the top of the dam, and there's a viewing platform at the middle point.

Anyway, I took the lower road first, duly admired and photographed the dam from below, and then turned around and headed for the top. Totally amazing! I parked the Insect and walked across the dam. It was a loveley warm day, and the sun was reflecting off the water, and the air was full of martins, swooping and diving for the thousands of midges.

I walked back to the bike, turned the key, pressed the start........click click silence. The Insect was completely dead. It slowly dawned on me that I'd now got a real problem. As I said, the Claerwen is over 7 miles from the nearest settlement, in the middle of the mountains, where there is absolutely no mobile phone signal. And I'm a woman, travelling alone, with all that implies. The Breakdown Services and the Police always recommend women to stay in their car if they break down, lock the doors and windows and wait for help to arrive.

But what do you do if you're on a motorcycle?

Over the far side of the dam, halfway up the opposite valley wall, nestled a little farm. I walked back down the road, took the lower dam track, and then walked up to the farm. I asked the lady if I could use her land line to call the RAC, and she very kindly obliged.

After a short wait, the RAC Call Centre answered.

"RAC Breakdown. How can I help you?"
"I've broken down"
"Can I have your membership number?"
"Yes, it's .............."
"Which motorcycle is it?"
"It's a Honda Hornet, registration S... ..."
"Can you give me your location please?"
"Yes, I'm in the Elan Valley, on top of the Claerwen Dam"
"Can I have a post code for that?"
"err.....it's a dam in the middle of some mountains. I don't think they deliver letters to it"
"Can I have your mobile number please?"
"You can, but I can't get a signal, so it's a bit pointless"
"Where are you calling from?"
"A farm on the other side of the valley"
"Is your motorcycle there?"
"No, it's broken down, on top of the Claerwen dam"
"Can I have the postcode for its location please?"

oh please.............................

"Well, if you don't give me a postcode or a mobile number, how will our agent find you?"
"Fair question. Just tell him to look for a 200 foot high dam, at the end of a valley, with a broken down motorcycle on top of it"

Anyway, I finally got her to understand that he needed to head for the Elan Valley Heritage Centre, then ask for the way to the Claerwen dam.

"Can you give me the post code for the Heritage Centre"
"Hold on, I'll walk the 4 or 5 miles to it and ask them"

As I said, I'd followed the road round to the base of the dam, and then crossed the valley floor to the farm. I made that around 1.5 miles. So I asked the farm lady if there was a quicker way to get back to the top of the dam.

"Yes, cross the footbridge there, go up through that stand of trees, and you will see a dried up stream bed. Follow that, and it will take you to the top."

Nice one - across the footbridge, through the trees, find the stream bed...........which is full of running water. Oh well, in for a penny.

So, hot day, full bike gear, carrying back pack and crash helmet, I start up the stream towards the top of the dam. Boy was that steep! In places I was on all fours, scrabbling for some kind of foothold with my big clunky bike boots.

I got to the top and collapsed in a heap on the grass. A nice, kind fisherman passing by gave me a bottle of water, and a much needed cigarette (I've actually given up smoking, but sometimes, you just gotta.....you know what I mean?)

About an hour later, the familiar sight of a bright orange RAC van warmed my heart. The RAC man was a very nice man. He established that the battery had died a death. In all truth, it had been on there for a very long time, and I guess the morning spent creeping around these lanes in first gear, had killed it off.

His first priority, was to get me back to civilisation, before we worked out what to do about getting bike fixed. As he said, I couldn't have broken down in a more inhospitable place. We jump started the bike. It's old technology, this one, so once started, it will run on direct current.

We cruised back to Rhayader, where there is a small off-road motorcycle and quad shop. They couldn't help with a replacement battery, but they called another shop about 30 miles away who had one, and who said they would put it on charge straight away, so that, by the time I got there, it would be almost ready to fit to the bike.

To cut a long story short, Mr. RAC started my bike again, and off I headed to get this goodly battery. The bike shop were brilliant. By the time I'd had a coffee, they'd fitted the battery free of charge, and the Insect was once more fit and healthy.

Strange experience, but hey, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - or so they say..........

Dust if you must............

My Mum always said 'a clean and tidy house is the sign of an empty life', meaning that women who 'just' did housework, had nothing else to occupy their minds and bodies.
I reckon she was right. The farm house was cleaned sufficiently, but was seldom tidy, because there was always so much else for her to do. She belonged to a generation where women were not expected to partake in gainful employment and despite the fact that, once married, she never had such outside employment (to say she never worked would be just plain wrong) she always had much to do outside the life of a housewife. Whether it was knitting clothes for the children of countless friends, baking cakes for various village events, training sheepdog puppies for Dad, or just helping out on the farm, her days were full and happy.
I'm afraid my life (and my house) are much the same............

Anyway, I was reminded of her, when I cam across this poem by Rose Milligan:

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
To paint a picture or write a letter,
Bake a cake or plant a seed,
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With rivers to swim and mountains to climb,
Music to hear and books to read,
Friends to cherish and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there,
With sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go - and go you must -
You, yourself, will make more dust.

Well I never.....................(well, actually, I did)

You may have seen the occasional post about my timid footsteps into the world of handmade costume jewellery.
Well, it's taken off rather well, and I now suddenly find myself with an internet shop!

If you want to keep up with what I'm doing, design-wise, you can find a link to it down the right side there.......
At the moment, I'm only selling to the UK, but if you're elsewhere and want to buy something, just contact me, and we'll make arrangements...............

I suppose now I've opened a shop, I've got no excuse to not spend hours in my workroom.................:) and spare time is something I'm about to have plenty of, as next week I'm off to hospital for some quite major surgery. So if you don't hear from me for a while, you'll know why!

Book Review - The Devlin Diary by Christi Phillips

Two murder mysteries and two love stories separated by more than 330 years. Two tales that are linked inextricably.
In 1672, a vicious killer stalks the court of King Charles II, inscribing his victims' bodies with mystical markings.
In Cambridge in 2008, a Trinity College professor is found dead, the torn page of a 17th. Century diary in his hand.
The two tales are written concurrently, but in such a way that they are not confusing, and you move seamlessly between the two tales as they begin to converge.
There is a slight, almost imperceptible difference in the way the two stories are written, and this helps you to keep them separate in your mind.
This is a well-written book, based loosely on known facts. It is a fast-paced narrative, and altogether, a most enjoyable read.

It's a sequel to Miss Phillips' 'The Rossetti Letter'. Think I shall have to go and seek that one out.......

Rating: a well-deserved 4/5

Antony Gormley

And while I'm in an artistic mood, how about my favourite modern sculptor? Antony models his figures on his own body, which gives them an incredible sense of life and realism. But there's so much more to his work than just the accuracy of his portrayals. The location of his figures is every bit as meaningful. This is best shown here:

This is Another Place, where his figures stand, looking out to sea. Search the internet, and you will find literally hundreds of photos of this installation, taken at all times of day, and from all different aspects. Each one seems to portray a different emotion and point in time.

Of course, Antony is best known for the remarkable Angel Of The North, which really needs no explanation or description



Probably my favourite - at least as far as atmosphere goes - is Sound II, in the crypt of Winchester Cathedral. When the crypt floods, as it often does, it imparts a very surreal stillness to the whole scene.



And now we have one locally. Hundreds of old nails taken from the restoration of Canterbury Cathedral, have been transformed into a 'floating body' by Antony, called Transport. Again, it is located in the crypt.



I could go on posting pictures of his work all day, and still not give it justice. If you're not familiar with anything other than the 'angel', I suggest you look on the web - there's hundreds of pictures, plus he has a web-site too

Time for another of my favourite poems.....

......by my favourite poet, George Gordon Byron.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

(It is known, that this poem was about his cousin, Mrs. Wilmot, whom he met at a party in a mourning gown of spangled black.)