One november weekend

We took a long weekend this past weekend. On Friday morning, we headed for Taunton and the cinema and Harry Potter. Popcorn and latte for breakfast whilst watching our trusty threesome begin their (sometimes tortuous and sometimes tedious occasionally exciting and even once rather touching) witchcraft related road trip to locate the horcruxes before either Harry or Voldermort wins. Definitely a film where you needed to have read the book. I would recommend reading it again before you go, by the way. Some while in, Dobby appeared. Dobby, I thought to myself, I must have misheard. I remembered him dead, books ago, weeping silent tears as I read him giving his life to aid Harry Potter, repaid by the digging of his grave by hand, not magic. Yet die Dobby did, in this book not the last. And then it ended, part way through, the kind of climatic end to half time as it were. And a year yet, until the finale.

Lunch in Taunton (don't bother with the place we tried, should you ever be in Taunton, looking for lunch and thinking that the olive tree looked in any way appealing. The soup was disappointing, watery, inedible. We, politely of course, pointed this out. The waitress pretty much ignored us, smugly charging us full price. Downstairs, the owner informed us that it was us that was lacking, not his soup. We left, outraged. Vowed never to return.

Drove north, to the Cotswolds, to Stratford and the naffest hired house I have seen in a long time. Decor from the 80s, child sized twin beds in every room. Bar the master suit, intended by a friend as a romantic gesture to his (relatively) new girlfriend. How romantic they felt in a bed dwarfed by dark floor to ceiling shiny wardrobes on every wall save the doorway to the ensuite, which had no door, I never did find out. No loo roll. Charged a non refundable £60 fuel charge on top of the rent plus any electricity above that - and being that they charged 17p a unit and there were no draw-able curtains - it was. Another place I shan't be returning (or recommending - New Inn House between Evesham and Straftord in case you should be planning a visit to the midlands).

And then, the wedding. A lovely, winter-y candle lit celebration of love and friendship and hip hop karaoke. Although there was less of the actual karaoke - that all went down at the engagement party. This was a hog roast in a converted barn with a massive open fire and old fashioned sweets on tables. Where best men read strange christmas carol style speeches and where french husbands watched bemused as people queued for the cheese table. Where there was a hat line in the foyer to the loo and cowshed toiletries and candles which said 'love'. And slightly drunken aunties posed suggestively for the photobooth which was on a balcony.

And where I wore my beautiful, Anathema Design-ed headpiece and a vintage crystal beaded velvet dress and won £20 on the wager for the length of the best mans speech. 

Anathema Designs

I came across these amazing pieces last week, made by Anathema Designs. They are made from recycled products and the creator is a trainee architect which comes across in the structure and composition of the pieces. I also love the idea of her work as "an attempt to change perceptions about what is beautiful and what isn’t". It is very refreshing to see jewellery which is well made, chunky, satisfying heavy, recycled and unusual and not at excessive prices.

The top one photo is a necklace made from a steel zip and the bottom one is a pendant made from recycled watch parts.

I have commissioned a zip piece. I am going to a wedding next weekend and have asked for my zip to be on a headband to complement a velvet and crystal vintage dress. Part sort of 20s, part up to date fabric and styling. I can't wait for it to arrive...

The Persephone Ninety: Diary for 2011

 

I can't remember where I first came across Persephone Books. Someone else's blog no doubt. Every so often I go to the website and look through the books and the beautiful end covers and think about buying one. Or two. Or a whole stack.

And then, in about mid October, my thoughts turned, as they do every year, to next year's diary. Even in the midst of iphones and google calendars I am the girl who uses a Smythson address book and spends aeons deciding on the perfect diary every year. I might also be the girl who splurged her first post university paycheck on a box of Smythson stationery and was over the moon when I won a box of Hello Lucky letterpressed personalised note cards last year.

Every year I start looking for the perfect diary, trying to balance out beauty vs practicality vs expense. I can never quite justify the Smythson offerings, beautiful though they are. The address book, whilst a present, also lasts year on year. Even though I keep all my old diaries in a box, it still is only for the year. It's days are numbered from the moment it is opened. 

Last year, to celebrate my first proper grown up qualified job, I bought one from Liberty (only it was a bit smaller). It is stunning and came it a lovely box (nearly as important as the book itself) and the turquoise embossed leather cover cheers me up every time I open it. But the pleasure stops there. The paper is a disappointment. I write in fountain pen and it shows through to the other side. It also has a page to a day. Which would have been fine in London. But I live in the country now. I know which days I go dancing and which days I collect M from the station. My appointments I need to remember are fewer and further between these days. The lack of pleasure in writing on the paper and the disappointment of all those days with nothing to note meant, sadly, I needed a different option.

So, I was so pleased when I realised that Persephone made a diary. With endpapers from all their books as the opposite pages to all the weeks. And with the first line of each book on the page. And each endpaper being a vintage fabric from the same year as the book was published. And all for £10. I ordered one and waited for it to arrive. And it arrived bent. With a creased cover. With shiny pages that I cannot write on with fountain pen. But beautiful nonetheless. 

If you live in London and can visit their shop and you write in pencil or biro - go and get one. You will not be disappointed.

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UPDATE

You may well be disappointed by the shop itself if this e-mail interchange is anything to go by:

Peacockfeathers: Thank you for my diary which I received on Saturday. I was pleased to receive it but very disappointed at the condition in which it arrived. Luckily, I purchased it for my own use and it doesn't overly matter that it is bent and has a crease in the back cover but had I bought it as a gift, I would have been unable to use it.  Also, whilst I think the diary contents are beautiful, I usually write with a fountain pen which would be impossible in this diary as the pages are shiny. I had thought about adding a book or two to my order but I will think twice about mail order now. Such a shame because the books are lovely.

PersephoneBooks: Hi - so sorry you do not like the diary. We did it in flexibinding because we did not want the diary to fall to bits, but we are very disappointed that you do not like it. Do put it in the envelope, write 'return to sender' and return it, and I'll refund the money. Apologies again.

 Peacockfeathers: Thank you for your e-mail. I am not sure whether you actually read my first e-mail.I at no point said that I did not like the diary. I was merely pointing out that the packaging was insufficient and it arrived bent and creased, which was a disappointment. I was pointing this out to you to allow you to do something for future orders so others were not similarly damaged. I was also commenting on the paper choice to give constructive feedback for future editions.

PersephoneBooks: Dear Rachel Lastname, oh dear, I was only trying to be helpful! Thank you very much for your advice, for which we are indeed extremely grateful and yes we will try to improve our packaging and our paper. 

 Maybe I am being extraordinarily sensitive and my e-mails were too rude or abrupt but I felt extremely patronised by Persephone Books. I'll let you guys decide whether you think it's worth it for the diary.

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Photos 'borrowed' from Persephone Books website.

Piggy in the Middle

There are many things that I miss about London. I thought restaurants would be one of them but there is a surprisingly good selection of places to eat to choose from down here. We are slowly attempting to try out them one by one.

Voucher Codes are compiling a list of local restaurants and I didn't want to let my new village down without mentioning our (only restaurant). Surrounded by pubs and hotels, Piggy in the Middle is situated bang in the middle of Porlock, along the stretch of 'high street' which is lit up by pretty little lights and looks so welcoming as you come down the hill and through the village.  On Exmoor we are lucky to have a fantastic selection of local produce being both on the moor and coastal. We have organic produce everywhere we turn and thankfully Piggy in the Middle serves up yummy dishes full of local food.

Fine dining it's not. The house wine comes in a carafe, the napkins are black linen, it's a little faux french in decoration and the coffee is less than desirable but the food is nicely cooked and the service is friendly. Too many viewings of Masterchef and Junior Roux have led me to notice things like plate choice, symmetry and style of the food and precisely how acidic the beurre blanc is yet what really matters on a Thursday night when you book with ten minutes notice is that the food is cooked by someone who knows how to choose their ingredients. We shared a prawn, rice and salad dish and a herb and tomato crusted salmon fillet with a sticky toffee pudding and felt satisfyingly full but not overstuffed. The chef came out to speak to us and there was a happy atmosphere.

Other notable places to eat in the area apparently include Andrews on the Weir, Reeves* in Dunster and (a little further afield) Podshavers in Bishops Lydeard although they all fall into the next price bracket up. At the moment, those are more special occasion restaurants whereas Piggy still falls into the because you feel like going out for supper category. Just what every village needs.

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Piggy in the Middle
High Street
Porlock
Exmoor National Park
Somerset
TA24 8PS

*beware the music if you open this website.

Dancing (the week away)

Two weeks ago I started ballet again for the first time in ten years. Slowly, my body is remembering the familiar movements. There is something very soothing at standing in a ballet studio listening to a stern lady on a tape commanding "ronde de jambe a terre" "battement tendues" "reverance" and feeling my feet stretching and pointing, my shoulders relaxing and my posture improving. The computer tension sliding away. What I thought I was looking for in yoga but turns out I wasn't.

Four weeks ago I started salsa for the very first time. Slowly my body is able to do the basic steps without looking down all the time. Salsa brought with it two unexpected side effects (other than something to show off at a party): laughter. friends.

I also started a street dance class. We learnt a routine to a song called Green Light. On Friday night when I got back from the pub I kicked off my shoes and treated my friends to a preview... Turns out the chest 'thrusts' (I think that's the best description) are *way* easier after 5 rum and cokes. Who knew.

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Photo by Michelle Cassell via Flickr

On being married & extended family

Last weekend, husband's extended family spent the weekend in Somerset. His brother and his wife and the dog stayed with us, his parents and Granny in the upmarket B&B across the road and his aunt and uncle in their campervan. 9 of us sat round the table above for supper on Saturday, 7 of us went to see Germaine Greer speak on Saturday evening, 6 of us drank wine whilst engaging in *ahem* discussions about what she said (and how she flung herself at my husband afterwards), 4 of us stayed up drinking until the early hours, 8 of us walked 4 miles along the coast and picked hoardes of blackberries in soothing golden September sunshine, 9 of us ate lunch outside in the garden whilst drinking lots of champagne in sunshine that was so hot that hats were handed out, 7 of us had afternoon tea on the harbour front, another bottle of champagne watching the sun go down on the deck of said B&B and then the same 7 had a kitchen supper back at our flat. Husband cooked 7 kilos of sirloin steak. I made savoury muffins and cupcakes and soups and salads and coffee and everyone ate everything. It was busy, it was full and it was wonderful.

It's a little quiet now though.

In which I shamelessly borrow photos and plan a second wedding...

It's been a long time since I wrote about weddings but somehow, when I saw these photos I couldn't stop myself. If I was having my wedding again I would ask Cara to take the photos and Sophie to do the flowers. It would mean having a slightly less diy/dit feel to it, but we did that the first time round. Gotta have something a little different if you're going to throw a second wedding party. Or, maybe, I should just have a baby. And invite them both to my baby shower. Maybe that's a better idea. Whatever. But seriously. I could totally do that. I guess I'd just have to get pregnant first. Maybe I'll just have a for the hell of it with a massive budget party*.

{and yes, for those who love to bang on about these things, I totally nicked these photos from P's blog post** and yes, I only 'know' Sophie through Cara.  She posted them, I loved them. So don't bother accusing me of plagurising. Photos that good/subjects that pretty deserve all the exposure they can get}

Photos by Cara; flowers by I Heart Flowers.


*otherwise mostly known as a wedding, I guess.
** speaking of which, we have that very same David Downton print hanging above our stairs.