Handmade happiness

You might remember from a previous post Sarah at Red Gingham and I did a little swap together in the spirit of the Dottie Angel Ultimate Challenge.  Having sent a few tea towels winging their way across the world, I received almost by return of post a most delightful parcel of handmade lovelies. 

I would like to say, "Here is a picture of my new bag," - picture you have, but Princess Bunchy was hovering around as I opened the package, and immediately swooped upon the wonderful bag made of recycled jeans and gingham and claimed it for her own. So here is a picture of Princess Bunchy's new bag (I sneaked a picture when she wasn't looking).

I love Sarah's attention to detail in the pocket trimming and detachable flower brooch - if you want to know more about the way in which Sarah makes these bags, you will find her post here.

Sarah also included this wonderful little bird: the little Princess was rather taken by this, too, and wanted to transport the bird up to the chamber crammed with objets that she occupies up in the eaves, but I pointed out that the bird was for the Christmas tree and as such should remain downstairs in public space until the grand decoration.

The little Princess readily assented to this course of action, as she regards the Christmas tree as her own particular domain, being in charge of the art direction on the Yuletide display.

And just as I thought I was out of the woods, she pounced on this and announced in a determined manner: "And I will have that hat, too!"

Luckily, as you see, I could respond that it was a tea cosy, and thus a hat for a teapot, not for a Princess. The Head Chef was of the opinion that I should have let her wear it to school, using the gaps as earholes, but much as the vision amuses me, the act would seem too cruel.

So thank you, Sarah, for your handmade gems from New Zealand, and the retention of two out of three for my own use is not bad going when there is a Princess in the house to whom to give precedence.

The pleasure of receiving handmade presents set me pondering about some ideas for handmade gifts for Christmas, and although at the moment my mind seems to be drawing a bit of a blank for this year, I will make you a present of some ideas I had last Christmas that might come in useful for you, and maybe you could help me with some inspiration for this year in return.

These were all little stocking-fillers I made for Princess Bunchy last December. The little mouse all snuggled up in a sleeping bag was made using this tutorial from Molly Chicken, with felt from Paper-and-String. And the little cat was from a pattern in Sew Hip magazine (issue 1), specially designed to use up scraps.

The pincushion was my own idea, and a very quick and easy present: two squares of felt stitched together with double running stitch (do running stitch one way in one colour of embroidery stranded cotton, 3 strands, then come back the other way filling up the gaps with another colour of running stitch).

It is topped with two hearts and a vintage button; I cut out two felt hearts using paper templates one slightly smaller than the other (just use a photocopier to reduce to appropriate sizes) and pinking shears. Both of these projects are great ways to use up odd scraps of felt.

Finally, the idea for this needlecase came from Sew It Up by Ruth Singer, where I more or less followed her instructions exactly as regards size and method, just adding the buttons and bows myself.

Again I was able to use small scraps of fabric and felt - and I was obviously quite taken with the heart and button motif last year, because here it is again.

So if you have any good ideas for handmade Christmas presents I would love to hear about them, especially if they are quick and easy, as I usually end up sweating over the midnight oil at the last minute!

At the moment my mind is full of knitted handwarmers for some reason, possibly because my hands have been cold since October, and I will show you more in my next post. The Princess has only possessed herself of one pair, so far; I think the key is to knit them in pink or grey, then she won't like the colour.

Moments of mess, or the story of stuff

First of all I feel that I should issue a warning about this post - it contains pictures of some rather untidy nooks in my house, entirely disarranged and totally unedited, apart from my attempts to brighten up the pictures so that you can see through the gloom. I am writing in response to an initiative called Moments which comes from the wonderful blog A Commonplace Life, where the idea is to show more of real life on our blogs.

I discovered this via Sarah at Red Gingham and Floss at Troc Broc and Recoup', and felt that I should take up their challenge to show more of the messy bits of life. I started blogging with the aim of encouraging myself to look on the positive side of life and take joy in the everyday place which I find myself, and I haven't aimed to present a picture of perfection, but I have tried to concentrate on the beauty in mundane things. Of course, in the process, the mess gets edited out because I have been trying to look beyond the mess. So today the task is to see the beauty in a spontaneous vision of the places where I work and create - none artfully arranged, just pictured as they were when I wandered about the house with my camera.

But for those of you who have a sensitive disposition, I will start off by showing my side of the swap that I have just done with Sarah, who started me along this track (the messy pictures are for you, Sarah!). A little while ago she indicated on her blog that she rather admires the pretty tea towels she has seen on English blogs, the like of which she cannot obtain in New Zealand. So I offered to send a few bits of English prettiness down south.

 As we are both participants in the Dottie Angel Ultimate Challenge, charity shops were my first port of call and I found three tea towels good enough to send overseas, but I didn't want to disappoint Sarah with a bundle of old tat, and as my version of the Challenge allows for buying new craft supplies and also presents for others, where a suitable secondhand or handmade alternative is not available, then I felt I could buy some new ones (especially as Sarah is probably going to turn them into bags or presents herself).

And, what was more, these all came in pairs, and the twins I can use as my patent recyclable wrapping paper which I mentioned in this post.

And now, having softened you up with a little domestic pulchritude, I propose to present something a little less artful, in the way of domestic disorder.

As he plonked himself down on the sofa in the kitchen (yes, the holiday sofa is now in the kitchen - I need somewhere warm for my afternoon nap), a sofa heaped with a surplus of miscellaneous cushions, crochet granny blankets and my knitting bag made from an old skirt, my dear brother-in-law, Bob the Builder, this morning very amiably expressed the sentiment that perhaps we needed to build an extension. I did respond that I knew that the subtext to this comment was the fact that I have a lot of, shall we say, 'stuff', and that sometimes I dream of living in a minimalist white modern box of the sort that is his stock-in-trade - it would be so much more forgiving on the dusting front. But he knows me well enough to pronounce that minimalism is not really my style. He is right, of course: wellies and pinnies would be quite out of place in such a clean and tasteful setting.

And you have seen from my previous post that I have issues with crossing to the other side of the road when a charity shop looms into view. I did bite the bullet when we turned some rooms over to B&B: you can just imagine how much stuff had to be turned out (or maybe not if you are not of an acquisitive, what's that lying by the side of the road? sort of disposition) and I did hand over nearly a dozen bags to charity shops, rather than liberating them in the other direction, as is more usually the case.

 
 But then when my parents moved to a smaller house, I am afraid that I felt impelled to rehome not inconsiderable amounts of furniture and china, mainly because I knew it was all the sort of stuff that I would pay good money for if I saw it in a charity shop.

Some of my nearest and dearest now have a habit of handing me their charity shop bags to rifle through before they finally dispose of the treasures inside, or very kindly informing me if they have something to take to the tip, because I will probably save them the journey.

So I think that we have established that my house is ranged quite densely with domestic artefacts, but sometimes it does distress me slightly that these artefacts are not ranged as neatly as they might be.

I grew up in a very tidy house, my close female relatives have very clean and tidy houses, and I live so often in a state of disorder with dog hair lapping at my ankles; I do dream of living in a well-regulated household, but I become distracted by poetry and knitting and the exquisite potentiality of yarn and fabric, and when I wake up the disorder has multiplied exponentially. I am very grateful that I have a Head Chef otherwise I might well starve poetically, all the while knitting my fingers to the bone.

Which is why my pictures tend to be close-up, I think: this means that no extraneous mess need be visible and I am fascinated by the representative quality of domestic minutiae, probably because it sure beats doing the dusting.

But after these pictures of my workspace, I will leave you with this one thought for a Sunday afternoon: whose desk is the messiest of all (no, it's not mine!)?

Challenging philosophies of thrift

I am sitting here today in a warm glow of thrift and deep dark greenness as I begin my disquisition on me and my uneasy relationship with charity shops. The warm green glow is due to the fact that I have walked about two miles with Princess Bunchy to take her to the swimming pool, and then two miles back. You may be impressed with such heartiness but it is at least partly due to the fact that the Landy had a funny turn on the way home from work last night, and a strange orange light started flashing on the dashboard. When I arrived home I consulted the manual and apparently this all means that I need to seek professional help, which is possibly quite true on several fronts.

And not only was I saving the world singlehanded by using shanks' pony, even my footwear was thrifty. Some months ago I bought myself a pair of Goretex trainers for winter walking, but after a few walks it became apparent that said trainers were a little too large for me, and had since then remained in the cupboard, leering extravagantly at me every time I peered in at them to see if they had shrunk in embarrassment. But a few weeks ago I bewailed my mispurchase in conversation with a very green and eco friend, and she admitted that she had a pair of slightly-too-small Goretex walking boots in her cupboard: so we did the definitely Dottie thing and swapped. I have never had proper walking boots before and I strode out this morning as if motorized, and have returned with toned hamstrings and glutes (or is it just aching legs?).

But back to the charity shops. I love charity shops to the bottom of my heart, and whereas the thought of a trip to Bluewater evokes in me a sense of dread, mention the word charity shop and my eyes gleam and my heart lightens. The trouble is, I tend to return from such emporia with bulging bags and then come home feeling guiltily extravagant.

I have a cupboard full of preloved china - I don't really need any more until the current stash is broken (which it will be, eventually). But this is the first crinoline lady china I had ever come across, so I felt impelled to rehome it in my little cottage, where it will be amongst kindred souls, rather than languishing, rejected, on a shelf amongst last year's unwanted Christmas gift sets of bubble bath, waiting for the next stage in their infinite round of recycling between charity shops.

However, the Dottie Angel Ultimate Challenge has renewed my urge to haunt the emporia of the preloved. I had been quite sensible about it all for some months, and hadn't visited a boot fair all summer, telling myself that I didn't need it all, however cheap it might be. Even bargains cost money, and it was just mindless consumption, even if secondhand.

But since joining the Challenge I am beset with temptation whenever I turn on the computer. Tif stands outside thrift stores with a big trolley, Floss displays the most exciting wares gleaned from the magnificently-named vide-greniers, and last night I discovered that Lola is just like me: the Challenge just encourages us to spend more time in charity shops. The Ultimate Challenge is not a way to save money, more an excuse to take pity on even more of the world's unwanted stuff, and bring it back to, in my case, a stuff-filled cottage. (This is why the General harbours yearnings towards mimimalist white boxes as living spaces - it is obviously his mode of rebellion against the rummage sale crowded shelves of the family home.)

 Just look at these books: I couldn't leave them where they were - especially the one entitled How to Run Your Home Without Help, offering inspiration for servantless households like mine. Alas, the solution seems to involve a lot of hard work and organization - I think I would rather go for the 'With Help' option any day, but so far no one seems inclined to offer much on that front. And Country Wisdom would seem something to aspire to - I have waved it in front of the Head Chef and will now wait hopefully for some bucolic thoughts.

And a metre and a half of Crowson fabric for £1.50 was just too good to resist: surely there must be something that I could do with it?

And so, as there seems no hope for me on the pared-down front, I thought you might like to see a few pictures of the latest textile miscellany to be brought home.

I was actually buying some concepts here, not just assorted textiles: in our local hospice shop I found a jumble of aprons which I imagine to be the remnants of a house clearance. All are made from recycled bits and pieces, not terribly well stitched, and the blue flowery one, quite patently fashioned from an old homemade skirt, even has a one-sided tie, as if there was not enough fabric to make a second tie -  the apron is unwearable in consequence, but someone kept it and treasured it. The pink one is an old pillowcase, and the appley one looks as if it might have been refashioned from a larger pinny.

I couldn't leave such leftovers of a thrifty, stitchy life to be discarded for rags, and have plans to reincorporate them into new aprons, perhaps with the help of the doyleys and some of the dressing table and traycloths which also came home with me. I know I have no need of more traycloths, but the cross-stitch one is quite interesting. I have another in just the same pattern and style, but using different-coloured threads, so possibly this pattern was one which was widely distributed as a kit or in a magazine, and is hus a bit of domestic social history.

And doyleys - Tif has set me back upon the doyley route, one which I thought I had put behind me. I wrote a good few hundred words on doyleys in my magnum opus, and even ventured on into the world of antimacassars. Philosophers have also expended much ink and paper on the socioeconomic and cultural significance of such domestic coverings, and I, too, jumped into the fray.

Reworking them knowingly into the functional domesticity of the apron - surely that can't be extravagance, no, not even thrift, worthy as that might be.

No, it is quite clear, going to charity shops is really quite a cerebral act, and the reuse of such domestic detritus is a socio-political statement. And as such it must be a Good Thing, and no need for me to feel guilty of wanton extravagance at all. It is all in the cause of Art and Philosophy, and therefore a route to discovering the Meaning of Life.

And if that isn't an incentive to go and have a rummage in a charity shop, I don't know what is.

And a quick postscript thank you to Andamento, who has very kindly given me an award. I have completely lost the plot on the award front, and can't possibly single out someone to pass it on to, as I read so many lovely blogs. So take it as yours, readers, and go and have a look at Andamento, where you will find some lovely pictures, not only of some beautiful landscapes, but even more fitting, of wonderful thrifty finds from charity shops!

Buttons and bubbles

You may remember that a little while ago I started making a bubble skirt for Princess Bunchy here, which I actually managed to finish in the nick of time for the big party here. As you have had only glimpses of fabric and finished item, I felt impelled to share with you the whole creative process. After all, the show and tell is the fun bit of blogging, and even more fun, it's not confined to once a week like a primary school.

The pattern was from Samantha at The Handmade Dress, and is called Miss Iris;  I think I would buy her patterns for their lovely names alone: it is so much more exciting to buy a name than a number.

The fabric is from the Arcadia range by Sanae for Moda - patchwork fabric again, which I found in an Aladdin's cave of a shop in Canterbury called J.E.M.'s: it is the tiniest shop but has the most compendious range of all sorts of things crafty, from fabric to yarn to buttons to beads to ribbons to sewing machines ... I don't quite know how they fit quite so much into such a small space.

As I have said before, Samantha's patterns are a delight to work with: they are so simply constructed, with such clear instructions that they are well within reach of those of us who are a little challenged on the dressmaking front. They are also multi-sized and printed on lovely thick paper, so that they can easily be used again and again.

Samantha helpfully advises you to trace the pattern onto some more paper to avoid cutting the original, and you will see that I used some very fetching pink tissue, which was all that I had in the wrapping paper drawer, having mislaid the tracing paper, which I am sure that I have bought on numerous occasions, in the certain knowledge that it is a useful thing to have in the house, but tracing paper is one of those things, like graph paper, which defeats my effort to locate it in an emergency, having burrowed itself into the furthest reaches of the darkest cupboards, and however many times I buy it, I never have it to hand when I want it.

As Princess Bunchy would say, I think it is the Borrowers, of whom there are at least two in my house. (Which was why I lost a skirt for six months, someone having absorbed it into the morass which was their sartorial storage facility, and only returning it anonymously when a new wardrobe was bought, which necessitated a certain amount of delving into festering heaps under the bed and on the floor, and thus unearthing my skirt, which I had come to the conclusion, after months of searching in vain for it, had spontaneously vaporized whilst my back was turned. And no, it wasn't actually a Princess what did it, and no, it wasn't even worn, and it was probably my fault for buying a skirt from Oxfam, in a fabric and style which faintly resembled the sort of shorts that an adventurous boy might keep uninvestigated in a heap for six months, all the while denying all knowledge of said skirt, because such things are of no relevance to his ilk.)

Where was I? Oh yes, cutting out Miss Iris. Note that I ironed the tissue paper first, as one should do with patterns in the quest for accuracy, and I have to say pink tissue was much more pleasing to work with, on both aesthetic and practical grounds, being slightly stronger than that self-destructing palest buff-coloured pattern paper favoured by the giants of dressmaking, and certainly a much prettier colour.

For those of you who are even more unskilled than me on the dressmaking front, I should like to recommend a grid ruler and cutting mat: I bought these some time ago in the vain hope that they would make a patchwork quilt for me, but although there hasn't been much progress on that front (I think it is like buying fancy mops and dusters from Lakeland: I have the feeling that they will suddenly bounce around the house unaided, just like in Cinderella, and in a trice I will have sparkling floors and shining horizontal surfaces. Unfortunately they don't come with a cleaning fairy, and thus languish accusingly in dark cupboards, probably playing Sardines with the tracing paper.). Sadly, the mat and grid didn't come with a quilting fairy, either, but they, in company with their friend the rotary cutter, make cutting out straight a lot easier.

Except if you get a cutting mat, please don't do what I did. In fact, it all started with the Head Chef, who in an unaccustomed fit of orderliness stored the mat vertically, propped up against the spare leaves for the dining room table, which also lurk in various dark corners around the house, because there is nowhere to put them when we don't have a dozen people to dinner. By the time that I in my housewifely inefficiency noticed that the mat was not lying safe and flat under the sofa, the damage was done, and an unsightly bulge had appeared in the middle of the mat, which makes it a little awkward to keep things straight and even. (And I do admit that I possibly compounded the damage, by trying to iron the mat straight again. Please do not attempt this in your possibly more well-regulated home.)

But zip, zap, the skirt was finished at least two hours before the party: the pattern was so straightforward that I didn't make any mistakes, or have to unpick any seams, and I even managed to get the elastic into the waistband without twisting it at the first attempt.

However, there was no cause for complacency - I had bought a plain white T-shirt to match, and as Princess Bunchy robed herself, I decided that this was all too boring, and started rummaging in my button box.

You can see the end result, which was all sewn on with contrasting coloured threads, whilst the General hovered in the doorway berating me for telling him that we would leave half an hour before we actually drove out of the gate (it was all part of the finest calculation: aim to leave half an hour before you need to, then although you will be half an hour late leaving, you will actually be on time, and be able to do something inefficiently time-consuming while the clock ticks on, like writing a blog post as I am doing now, when I should be driving out of the gate ten minutes ago.).

One day my ambition is to write a simple tutorial from which you will learn something useful, but I think that is something towards which I must work, crabwise probably. In the meantime, under the What I Learn heading (my first physics teacher at secondary school had this as the final heading for each lesson, and I found it so useful: you could just skip the rest and remember the What I Learn) is:

1. Don't apply heat to a self-healing cutting mat as it will melt and deform,

2. Pink tissue paper makes life more fun, and

3. It is very difficult to cut a straight line without a ruler.

And, 4. The application of buttons will always improve anything you care to make, so keep your button box well topped up.

Have a good weekend, and I hope for your sake that it is a buttony one.

Up and away

I don't suppose anyone noticed, but we took the opportunity provided by half-term to take a couple of days' leave of absence from the homestead. Things are generally slowing down in the garden, and my laissez-faire, it's such a mess because I garden for wildlife, attitude is, I am glad to say, paying off. The dead sunflower heads are alive with sparrows, and all that weedy undergrowth provides cover for them to sit under my kitchen window and chew on the husks. So at least I needn't feel guilty for not getting round to deadheading and weeding the flowerbeds.

We left the General in charge, fortified by a fridge full of pizza (he did request ready-meal lasagne, but that was a step too far for the food police), and a hefty financial incentive. Ensconced as he usually is in his digital eyrie, I suspect that he barely noticed that we were gone, and as we had emailed his tick list upstairs, he was very methodical regarding the animal husbandry.


We headed up north, and up hill, to the most wonderful bed and breakfast in Weardale - at 400m above sea level it seemed quite a dizzying height to us: we are marsh-dwellers who reside a mere 6m above the rising sea. But this area of the North Pennines is a most beautiful part of the country, with a wild, untamed air, vivdly-coloured hills and dales, and a frighteningly low stocking density for sheep.

We stayed at Slackhouse Farm, off-grid, but amazingly well-supplied with electricity from a wind turbine, and ate the most delicious food cooked by fellow-blogger Ellie, who is a feltmaker extraordinaire. Her felt has to be seen to be believed: she works mainly in the natural palette of wool colours provided by different varieties of sheep, some from her own flock. Sleeping under one of her blankets ensured the cosiest night: it was like a blanket from a fairytale, light as gossamer, but beautiful, too. I also rather covet one of Ellie's fantastic floor rugs, but I am afraid Kep might try to herd it into a corner.

So if you fancy a little holiday with a difference, or want to learn how to make felt, do go and visit Ellie at Fleece with Altitude - I love the picture of where she keeps the children, and also the rather manic-looking animal in the header!

But as fellow smallholders and self-sufficient types will know, a short trip away might mean the bliss of some late and animal-free mornings, but the work doesn't go away, it just piles up, and the shortening days and general slow-down in the garden have been focussing my mind on winter supplies. So I have been a bit manic, too, madly stewing apples for the freezer - I thought when I had finished a wheelbarrow full that was the last of it, but then I turned and saw this big box as well. It looks like more chilly hands from peeling and chopping are in the offing.

And then there are the quinces, and there is still another tree's worth to pick, which are beginning to rot balefully under my gaze every morning when I open the shutters. But they look and smell so wonderfully golden and historic, that possibly I can forgive them their plenty, if we can just find the time to preserve them. And if not, we will just feel guilty.

And to compound our problems of storage over winter, the extra freezer which we were given this summer has proved to be the most greedy consumer of electricity, so I must address myself to some sort of cost-benefit analysis regarding the purchase of a new, more efficient one. (It is at times like this that I start wondering why I don't just give in and buy ready-meals from the supermarket.) But they wouldn't taste so nice, so I think I will just have to get back to my chopping board and saucepans.

Maybe a present would stiffen my quavering resolve - I have just seen that there are giveaways at Lululiz and Lydia's Treasures, so I might just have to go and enter: perhaps I might be lucky. I have also managed a little therapeutic yarn-winding of a beautiful dove-grey skein from the Skein Queen - knitting it up into some toasty handwarmers would be just the thing for chilly, workworn hands, and certainly good for the soul.

And to all those lovely people who have been in touch and sent me such nice comments, I will get round to you all, I promise - I just have to finish off the apples first!

A joy for ever

The rain is teeming down outside today, so much so that I have left the hens shut up for their own good, just as William Cobbett advises, but last Sunday was a sunny day for us all, both literally and metaphorically.

As I think I may have mentioned before, my dear papa, the Commander-in-Chief, and my dear mamma celebrated their golden wedding anniversary last week, and held the loveliest party you could imagine at the weekend. As the Commander-in-Chief mentioned in his speech, my mother is quite sure that she deserves a gold medal for putting up with him for fifty years - my view is that medals are deserved all round for anyone who remains happily married for that long.

And what a beautiful day we had, in spite of some early morning flurries at Pomona's cottage. I had finished Princess Bunchy's Miss Iris skirt in plenty of time, well, certainly by 11am. And then I had the idea of adorning her new white T-shirt with some buttons, which only took half an hour or so.

 There was much huffing and tapping on the part of the General because I had asked everyone to be ready to leave at 11.30am and I was still sitting stitching in my jeans at that hour. (I was about to say that the General was tapping his watch, but I think he was probably tapping the new Ipod that he has acquired, which seems to operate by tapping. I also say acquired because I think it came free, or nearly free, with my new computer, but I was told that it would be wasted on me in my digitally-challenged state.)

I had at one point gazed longingly at the Toast catalogue, and hankered after a new party dress, but that was before taking on the Dottie challenge. So I was a good Pomona and hauled my existing going-out frock from the cupboard, which is, to be honest, a perfectly pretty little number I bought from People Tree two or three years ago. And really it was a Good Thing that I was not wearing something too precious in its newness, for I spilt brown sushi sauce all down the front within minutes of arriving, in a fit of my usual cackhandedness. And luckily this frock has a disruptive pattern of greys, so it didn't really show too much, and someone complimented me on the prettiness of my dress after its embellishment with sushi sauce - to which, of course, I could reply with a clear conscience and polished halo that it was certainly a most ethical dress. And maybe brown sauce improved it.

It was also a very happy weekend because the Ploughboy returned for the party and so I was able to reassure myself of his industrious enjoyment of the academic life, as I heard about his 4am starts (or was that finishes?), and general busyness on all but the intellectual front. But he emailed yesterday asking for pictures of our pigs for a project, so I can comfort myself that it is not all cakes and ale, there is some pork in there as well.

But, as my papa would say, I digress. We arrived at the party one minute before my sister, so we weren't late. My large people acted as car park marshals (although it appears more little and large in the picture above), and little Princess Bunchy had a real live baby to play with, and enjoyed being nursemaid for the afternoon. And I have come to the conclusion that the reason that the finished blanket was not entirely satisfactory to me before was that it needed a baby underneath - that was all that was required to complete the picture of perfection.

And now we come to the presents, or rather present. My parents had said on the invitation 'No presents', but I made an exception for myself and was able to come up with the perfect present which also fulfilled, and indeed excelled, the criteria of the Dottie challenge. It was handmade, it was the most beautiful piece of work that you could ever envisage, and I wrapped it in reusable packaging, namely a tea towel. Yes, the assembled guests also laughed when I mentioned that point - but I blame Sarah at Red Gingham, as she has set my mind running on the potentialities of tea towels. And they make very good, very pretty, and eminently recyclable wrapping paper (it was duck egg blue with spots to match my mother's kitchen).

And having dealt you a few hints as to the magnificence of my present, I now present my present in all its complete and wondrous glory.

You may remember that I wrote a post here about the fantastic work done by my friend, the artist Tom Meek, and as a thank you to my parents for all those years of care and education meted out to children and grandchildren, I commissioned a very special piece which consisted of a little extract from Vita Sackville-West's long poem, The Land, embellished with flowers, apples, cherries, hops, wheat: all things green and growing and special to my mamma and papa.

There is a plough, for my father is a farmer; there are hops as he is the grand old man of hop-growing in this country (you may have heard him on the radio, or even seen him on the television recently, talking about hops).

The owl is partly for wisdom, but also the environment is very dear to his heart, and one farm has won an environmental award, partly because of the care taken to maintain habitats for birds.

The cornflowers and roses were particularly for my mother, and the robin, as messenger from heaven, also has a particular special significance to us all.

Tom has such an amazing talent - the Ploughboy and I put our heads together and made suggestions as to some of the elements, and Tom produced this wonderful design, which appropriately enough includes gold in the lettering, and he also organized the most wonderful green and gold frame to show this piece at its best. Just look at that ladybird, and his trademark Meadow Brown butterfly - I am in utter awe at such skill, and such draughtsmanship.

This is the first time in my life that I have done anything so grown-up as commissioning a work of art, and (unusually for me) words failed me when I first saw it in all its breathtaking beauty. I really feel quite honoured that an artist of such skill and talent has made something so special for me and for my family, and this truly is a thing of beauty which will be a joy for ever.

And now it is back to scrubbing floors and hauling logs, but Sunday was an enchanting interlude, a gathering and a creation of memories, and I am so grateful that we were all able to enjoy such a happy time together, a time to treasure for ever, too.