I’m going to visit my dad in the Highlands for a long weekend, and I’m taking the sleeper train, aww yeah!
Inverness is 589 miles away - pretty chuffing far. I should be around Gleneagles when the sun comes up. Can’t wait.
Park: Brazen Gate
Dogs: None. What?!
Notes: Back on the pony. It went really well, I don’t know why I’m so surprised.
I went back to Holkham over the weekend, LOVELY.
The walk to the beach from the car park is a treat in itself; on a boardwalk through a pine forest. It smells lovely, and then the trees thin out, and you can see the beach and the sea in the distance.
Holkham has been really quiet both times I’ve visited, with most of the few people sticking to the righthand side of the beach near the path. But head left, and walk a bit, and it’s practically deserted.
It wasn’t the brightest day…
… but it was still warm enough for swimming!
The bay is flat and the sea stays shallow quite far out, so I could ease myself in, still touching the bottom, even though I could only sea the grey waves breaking in front of me.
Wading in up to my shoulders, I stopped being afraid and began to hurl myself into the bigger waves and it was a lot of fun.
I SAW A JELLYFISH.
It was about face-height, as I was throwing myself into the break, and freaked me the hell out.
Apparently I shouldn’t be afraid of Moon jellyfish as the sting is “mild”, but a) I didn’t know that at the time, b) I would like to avoid being stung all together, and c) can you quantify “mild” for me?
So I pottered about in the shallow end for a bit, and found loads of shells.
Maybe a marine biologist could tell me what kind of crabs used to live in these?
Also, look at these razor clam shells! There are loads all over the beach, so many you can’t really walk barefoot all the way along because a lot of them have splintered, and it hurts.
I do so enjoy going to the beach, thanks beach - until next time!
I have a new summer fad and it is homemaking ice lollies.
The moulds and lids were from Poundland, six to a tray, each lolly being appox 100ml.
With pal Mulley of Mulliver’s Travels, first up was green tea and strawberry.
Recipe: (per tray - we made a big bowl and kept it in the fridge.) 400ml juice, 200ml green tea (steeped with two bags for 3-4 mins), frozen berries.
Bonus: it tasted a bit like Arizona.
For seconds - green tea and mango.
Recipe: (per tray, we again made a massive bowlful, eating them faster than we could freeze a new batch.) 450ml tropical juice, 150 ml green tea, frozen mango bits.
BETTER THAN A SOLERO.
Of course, my caffeine dependence was bound to step in at some point…
Recipe: 1tblsp brown sugar and 1 tblsp honey (or whatever you like, to taste - I was worried about the coffee freezing bitterly and in my head, lollies should always be sweet) dissolved in 450ml strong brewed coffee, 150ml almond milk.
GOOD MORNING BRIGHT EYES.
Side note: I didn’t mix in the milk, just tipped it on top of the coffee in the mould to get a cloudy effect. So artsy!
Bloody love lollies.
Bandeau sounds like Spandau, so of course I was humming Gold to myself whilst making these skirts.
I wanted something super-simple and very easy to wear in the humidity. No buttons, no zips, no fitted waists, no fabrics that could get stained with sweat or ice cream. Luckily - one of my housemates had just the skirt and we’re the same size, so I traced it exactly.
There’s the skirt body, as well as a separate waistband which is double-layered.
I only needed half a metre of fabric for each skirt, so it turned out to be a cheap project, too - less than £5 each.
I chose cotton jersey sensible colours; black, navy, and black and white stripes, so I could wear my new skirts with the brighter printed shirts I keep making myself, and keeping them muted enough for wearing to the office.
I got the jerseys from The Cloth House, 98 Berwick St.
The stripy one is slightly less stretchy than the other two so I won’t be cycling in that one after all.
I’m so pleased with how they came out that I’m going to save up all my bits of change, and alternate going to the bookshop with making myself a treat.
I read this by Hugh Muir on The Guardian, and my immediate answer is: yes.
I feel like I bang on about it a lot: I grew up in rural, farming Cumbria and I’ve got an accent. Not quite the accent, I left 8 years ago and it’s lost some of the grate, but I still sound undoubtedly northern. I haven’t got audio files of myself, but I go on my friend Sam’s movie podcast sometimes, you can have a listen to it if you want here and here.
It’s flat vowels, dropped t’s, over-pronounced r’s, and weird slang; ratch, scrow (rhymes with now), hoss.
So even though there are bigger fish to fry, and in the grand scheme of things it could be so much worse, here’s a big ramble about how I feel about my accent.
Weeks ago, I saw this fabric and had to buy it. I like travel, I like mail, and I like bright colours; ideal!
I reused the front and back bodices of the boxy self-drafted Palm pattern from last year, but didn’t have enough fabric for sleeves, a collar, or any facing so on a technical level it’s not quite as finished as I would have liked, but from the outside you can’t really tell!
Ta da: a summer shirt that doubles up as a checklist of places to visit!
Sometimes at night
I watch the
mice moths cross the kitchen floor my bedroom wall
I used to think they came from the
But they come
in under the pantry door from my underwear drawer
I get so close I can touch them all
On the nights I wait up for your call
asks doesn’t ask if we’ve seen ‘em She’ll set traps they aren’t bothered, but and i just spring mash ‘em
My roommates say we should kill them all
But they’ll stay up with me and I agree, I hate them
you never call I feel them crawl
On those nights
you never call they lay eggs in my flour until I cry
Comparatively, moths are not the worst pests, but they do eat holes in my clothes and soft furnishings (a taxidermy foxtail I was given as a gift was the first thing to go), and fly into my ears when I’m asleep, and lay eggs in my flour - the thought of which makes me want to vomit. And I haven’t seen them eat any of the aphids that are blighting my windowsill spinach.
Here is what I plan to do this weekend. Hell, I’ll even dry the lavender myself. But I’m not very happy about it.
In one of my Norwich houses, we had to keep sugar in jars one summer (proto-Pinterest) because of ants and earwigs, and in my Toronto room there was a mouse I’d named Gary because I wanted a pet - but you can’t really name moths, and now I’ve got a blood smear up the magnolia that won’t all the way wash off, and people don’t really take them that seriously like I’m complaining about misunderstood butterflies. When they’re batting into the lightbulb, they’re not gross, just an inconvenience. The consequences of moths unchecked can be on a par with other insects when it gets to infestation levels, and themselves are a symptom of the damp problem we’ve got.
So even though my carpets aren’t wriggling yet, I hate you, moths - and as soon as my sweaters start squirming I’m going to set everything on fire.