Dave X 6

Where was I, oh yes, 2 cats, 4 chickens, 1 dog and 1 rabbit. Make that 5 cats, 6 chickens, 1 dog and 1 rabbit. 5 cats because one of the cats has produced 3 more, OK, yes they're cute, but now we have 6 altogether, well it will be 3, 2 are going to live with my brother, last I heard they were naming one 'The Vicar' I expect it will bring a smile when visitors are asked not to sit on 'the vicar'. So for the time being, 3 balls of fluff are exercising their claws on my feet and ankles and the two new sofas in the living room.

And 6 chickens I hear you saying, what happened to Dave, Trevor, Pablo and Tango, well they became Dave, x6 Dave because I figured it was easier to call Dave in at bed time than Dave, Trevor, Pablo, Tango etc, and etc. So Dave it is. Its taken a long time to get eggs, but eggs we have, in various shades of brown to cream, with the odd smear of mud I hope, it took them so long to get the hang of it that I started to threaten them with pastry overcoats but they're laying now, nice and steady, sometimes Dave even manages to lay one in the nesting box.

During the wait for chickens to lay, I've been whiling away my days working. Yes, you remember, that job I applied for eons ago, well I've started. I've never worked in a more boring job. The most interesting thing about it is trying to invent new ways of looking busy when 1 of the 3 sisters in charge appears and looks down her nose at the thing who dares enter her line of vision. Yes, we are at the far end, almost the 'on the soul of Sisters boot' end of the pecking order. If we had perches in the staff room, ours would be about 3 foot below the surface, if we were allowed in the staff room, well we're allowed in it, just not allowed to sit in it cause we only work for 5 hours not 6 so we don't get a break, its the law you know.

Things can only look up they say, so hopefully by my next post here I'll have been promoted to paediatric consultant for the unit and sister will be on the bottom of my left croc.

Dave, Trevor, Pablo and Tango.

Someone slap me, quick. Why am I getting chickens, isn't 1 dog, 2 cats, and 1 rabbit enough to be going on with, what do I need with chickens. Well eggs I suppose, and good manure, and, pets for the children. And more work, and running up the garden in the pouring rain and snow and cold to feed and water and collect eggs and clean out, ok wheres that slap, give it to me now before it's too late.

I've built almost 2 runs this week. I'm trying to do this on the cheap, 'cheap' get it. I know I've got some wood in the garage, someone gave it to me for a bonfire and it was new wood, much to good for a bonfire so I saved it, was going to build a one of those hexaganol things you sit under to take tea. Anyway I found 2 pieces, retrieved the other two piece I'd nailed together to make a clothes prop and an old picnic table the kids had when they were small er. got half way through and decided that the wood was too rotten and wasn't going to last a sparrow landing on it let alone a chicken being chased by a dog.

Off to B&Q for some more and find a bundle of 8 sticks 6 foot long. That'll do, it'll have to do at that price. Have you seen the price of chicken wire, I need £30 worth for this chicken run, when did chicken wire get so expensive, ever since I decided to keep chickens I bet. Anyway, back home and we set about building the run again, I think it will be ok this time, we've run out of screws, so another trip back to B&Q.

I've ordered the chickens, 4 brown ones who I'm assured love children and like company, shame cause Dave, Trevor, Pablo and Tango, (don't ask) will be down the bottom of the garden on their own. They're coming home on Monday. I have till Monday to change me mind, see sense and get lynched by the kids if I change my mind. So Monday it is. Omlette anyone.

43 Seconds of Fame

Well thats it, I've done it, does that mean I'm famous, does it mean that I can put as heard on LBC. I hadn't intended it to be an advertising excersise, not really, I just thought people might be interested in what I do in my shed so I told them, on LBC radio yesterday. The subject, 'Can a shed keep your marriage happy', or something like that. Well mine keeps me happy and if I'm happy, well you know the rest.....

So anyway, there I am sitting at my desk, wiring beads onto a charm bracelet when my hand lifts the phone. I know the number, its written on the shed wall, Abbie phoned up once to cry at one of the producers for slamming cat lovers. She didn't get as far as the presenter, I think the girl answering the phone probably thought it was more than her jobs worth. So I ring up and this girl answers, and said she'd ring me back.

She wont ring me back, she never does, I mean she didn't last time when Abbie rang in tears about the cat hater presenter. Its half past three. The kids will be home soon, if she's going to ring she needs to ring now or I'll be speaking to her and the door bell will ring and the dog will start raving, she'll say she can't hear me and I'll get passed over. Open the door, thats it, then they wont have to ring the doorbell and the dog will only bark his hello a little bit. I can be upstairs, shut myself in the bedroom, then it will only be a muffled bark.

I need to go down to the shed, when the kids get in we've got to go to the post office and I need to pack some stuff up to post off. If I go down the shed, I can't answer the phone down there cause the reception isn't good and I'll get cut off. I'll run down there holding the phone then if it rings I can run back and answer it where the reception is good. I do that, grab padded envelopes and run back. Oh gawd, if she rings now I'll not be able to talk to her, she'll think I'm having an asthmatic attack and call me an ambulance and how will I explain it to them. Deep breaths and a glass of water, thats it, OOh got my breath back now. Better not drink too much don't want to be sitting on the loo chatting to her. Can people actually tell you're sitting on the loo when you're on the phone talking to them, must test that out one day. 'Hello, its me, yes me, where do you think I am, yes dear, yes, I'm in the toilet, can you tell'

The phone rings, 'Hello, yes I'll hold, yes I'll turn the radio off, yes thank you' Ages, sitting there, while Bert in South Ham is telling her about his potting shed, he's had it for 47 years, the year after they married, when the first baby came along. Did they have any more? yes they had 14 more. He didn't stay in his potting shed all the time then ha ha. The travel news, then it's me. A short introduction and there I am, I'm on. Jeni Barnett is lovely, she asked lovely questions and made me feel like I was chatting to a friend, she asked me how you make beads, I giggle, did I giggle too much, and then she asked me, whats the name of my business, YES!!! I give her the address as clearly as I can, www.perfectlygorgeous.com and then she launches into raptures of joy as she looks at the site and tells London how lovely it is and what beautiful beads. In fact she thinks its so lovely she's putting it on the LBC website, Fabulous. Did I say thank you, too many times. I can't tell you what I said or what she said exactly, cause I can't exactly remember.

And there it is, the link on the 'Blast I missed it' page on LBC Radio. So does that mean I can put as featured on LBC Radio on the site then. ha ha. I'll send Jeni a piece then you never know I might get another mention. lol.

Rabbits with Pastry Overcoats.

Well how bad is this, yes I know its Monday the 9th of June. Where have I been you may ask, the honest truth is, I just don't know. I don't know where the time goes. I do know that the more time that goes by the less I seem to achieve.

We have a new member of the family. I didn't intend adding to our number it sort of happened. Lunch with a friend, bit of glass melting, bit of putting the world to rights and I am driving back down the A217 with a car stuffed with a run a hutch and Fluffy Bunz. This'll suprise the kids, I only got it for the kids, can I manage to get home with enough time to unload it all from the car, screw it together and install the dark chocolate brown lump of fluff before they arrive. Being stuck behind the 154 half way home doens't help matter but as I pulled up outside I have 15 minutes to complete my task. I take Fluffy Bunz into the shade in the pet carrier and then do 4 trips to the car watching each time for any sign of the kids coming down the road. Lock the gate, they can't get in now, I'm only doing this for them. I grab a trusty table knife to use as a screw driver. I used to have a screw driver, a pink handled one, in fact I had a whole pink tool kit, I still have the carry case, with a pink handled craft knife inside, nothing else, everything els had gone to far flung (or chucked) corners of the house or garden or garage. I thought I'd be safe with a pink set, the PS would never want to be seen at work with a pink handled hammer, or a pink screwdriver and tape measure, but they've gone, all but this singular craft knife with the wobbly blade, I expect thats why its still in there.

Anyway, I start to screw this pen together and its only an hour since we took it apart and can I remember what went where, it becomes reminicent of something off of the Generation Game only my dad isn't there helping me. I finally get it half put together, it will do, I can tighten those screws up later. In with the hutch and in with the rabbit. I'm just returning to the car for the roof and a bag of rabbit dinner and the children appear. Can't let them see the rabbit dinner, hide it quick, it'll spoil the suprise. I leave the lid to the hutch in the car and walk to the garden gate and wait for them to arrive. We go into the house and they both rush for water to quench their walking home from school thirst. So how do I get them to go down the garden and come upon the rabbit. They want to watch TV they dont' want to go down the garden, I'm urging them to go play, I've just spent the last 15 minutes looking like a contestant on the Krypton Factor and the man next door is re-assured that I do suffer from some manic condition. In the end I send Joe down for a loaf of bread from the freezer in the garage and he has to walk past, I'm standing by the back door holding my breath waiting for him to find the rabbit. He walks past it, blind to it. Fifteen bloody minutes, I'm standing there looking like a beetroot, sweat pouring off me, blood pressure raised from rushing around and he walks past it. 'What' is his reply to the look on my face.

Abbie found her, Abbie cried with joy and thanks that she'd finally got a rabbit, shame it wasn't a white one but it was a rabbit. The lovely rabbit has settled in well, ignores the dog after his initial scurries into his hutch and safety and seems quite happy. So far the children have fed her every morning, and she's been cleaned out at the weekend. Not sure how long it will last but she's certainly getting plenty of attention right now. I've them if they don't keep it up she'll end up wearing a pastry overcoat.

So whats next....... chickens, Mmmm now theres a thought.

I'm sitting down. Sitting down and not working, not eating dinner, not in a meeting, not torching, just sitting down and it's not even 9pm its 2.20pm in the afternoon. What a hectic week. Church meeting on Monday, run kids to drama class on Tuesday for dress rehearsal, come home make dinner for PS, pick kids up from Drama class, drop them home, go and get takeaway chinese, go over to friends house for evening. Wednesday, take Joe to tutor, come home, cooke tea for Abbie, drop Abbie at friends ready to go to Brownies, pick Joe up from Tutor, get takeaway (treat for behaving at tutors) come home, eat, go out pick Abbie up from Brownies. Thursday, Spend the morning in Church making up orange squash for Abbies whole class and the other 2 year 4 classes as they've spent the morning there watching the Easter Experience. Come home do mad dash around house, cleaning, polishing, hoovering, washing, making up spare bed. Parents arrive. Kids home from school, sling a quick chicken casserole in the over and prep some veg, burn the only potato's in the house, pretty positive I can't get away with instant mash on this occasion. Cut burnt bits off potatoes and mash with far too much butter and milk to hide the hint of burnt food. Eat dinner, clear away dinner, take parents and children to church hall for production of Aladdin which they are both staring in. Sit and watch the play, clap profusely at clever offspring. Parents are driving home tonight, not staying in the freshly made bed I made up earlier. Wave them off, get in the car and dash into supermarket before it closes at 10pm. Pick up milk and bread, get cadgolled into buying Mars bars and extra thick milk shake, get home get over the excitememt of the play and kids finally got bed on the promise that they needn't got to school till 10.30am tomorow. Friday, 10.30 drop Joe at school, Abbie at the church up the road where year 4 are practicing their Easter play to be performed on Monday. Dash back to school and YES I'm forth in the queue for the school assembly, a front row seat for a change.

There's Sallys Mum, tall, slim, elegant, dressed in the latest whatever with a fully made up face, Joshua's Mum Mrs Eco friendly, she's always late because she always has to make a detour to the recyling bins with yesterdays organic wine bottle and the gaurdian. Combat trousers and flowery jumper, hair in plaits and yoga monthly tucked under her arm. Sarahs Mum, Mrs Beeton, with her 1980's dress sense and a casserole in the oven. I swear she has a pinnie on under that mack. The kids are never without a vest and a cardigan and in the winter, mittens on elastic. And Chavvy Shaz. Chelseas Mum tracky bottoms, skinny tee shirt with bare midrift, and a smattering of tattoos and belly rings and the most enourmous bangle sized earrings any pirate would be proud to sport. Hair scraped back giving her the oriental look and a ring on each finger. Shes a nice girl, sort of the earth. Then theres me. Yesterdays hair twisted up into a knot and clipped, yesterdays tee shirt with yesterdays coffee stain. Jeans with added green paint, purple crocks and a spot on my chin. Why do I always only remember its class assembly when I'm dropping them off, why do I look like I'm married to the rag and bone man. Back home to work and make up some more jewellery as the beads are back from being annealed.

Friday night and another performance of Aladdin, I'm helping out back stage tonight. PS has gone to give blood. If I hadn't been needle phobic I could have quite happily have joined him for a lie down for an hour with a cuppa and a biscuit.

So here I am today, Saturday, PS is in the garage fixing something with valves the kids are in the garden playing with kids up the road and I am sitting down, talking to you. I would have been in the shed making beads but the gas ran out this morning and evidently the gas man doesn't work on Saturdays. One more performance tonight of Aladdin then he can get back into his lamp and we can all relax for a bit, until Monday when it's the Easter play lol.

Foxes in Soxes

'You'll never believe this, someones nicked one of my boots out of the porch' is the clean version of PS's good morning darling how are you today. 'Uhhh' is my reply as I struggle out of the arms of Morpheus and back into the bedroom. He's standing there waving a singular boot in the air. Fury leaping from him as he announces that he can't go to work with one boot, (they're steel toe capped and a requisite of the job) he'll lose a days pay and will have to buy a new pair of boots, to boot, actually he didn't put the to boot on the end, I just did.

So there we are, PS, although the boot has been found in next doors front garden has gone back to bed since the boot was doing a good impression of wet sheep so unwearable and said boot is now standing on the radiator to dry. I might as well get up, now I'm wide awake. Breakfast eaten, uniforms ironed and on and I'm yelling at the kids to get their coats and shoes on as I finish the packed lunches. So where are their shoes, Joe has one, Abbie has one, Abbie has one plimpsol, Joe has one trainer, no pink suede boots, but there is a pair of beach sandals of Joes. None of mine are missing Huh! It appears that the thief has stolen one of nearly every shoe and both Abbies pink suede boots. None of mine, I was too lazy to put mine in the porch, mine were in the living room, safe. Foxes, they're the thieves. PS is raving about the porch door being left open and why did't anyone shut it. Well I'm not telling him, but I wasn't last in last night.

Its a quarter to 9 and I'm sitting in traffic on my way to our local Asda to buy shoes so the children can go to school. I'm not buy expensive ones, they'll have to have what I can get. Abbie finds a pair almost instantly and Joe takes half an hour walking up and down, deciding between styles, this one pinches, that one looks weird. £35 later I drop them both at school fully clothed and shod.

That was yesterday and today the site where PS is working there is an undercurrent wafting around about foxes hopping around our village in one steel toe capped boot. He is not amused.

Oh and when I got back from the shoe shopping trip there was a telephone message. I got the job (see previous post) Well would you believe it!!!

Crikey, a weeks slipped by, where have I been. Well I obviously didn't get the job, not heard a dicky bird, didn't like my dress sense I presume. Have stopped hounding the postman, something he looks relieved about, he was beginning to hesitate behind the privit hedge then dash past the wrought iron gate while I stood behind the front door ready to grab whatever he had the nerve to push through the brass letterbox. Talking of post, why is it that you can wait in all day but still miss the vital package that you are waiting for because you dared to go to the loo. Your desperate, you've been sitting around all morning waiting, you can't finish this job that needs to go out today with out that package so you sit in the kitchen, the front door in full view, and that third cup of coffee just starts to tickle your bladder and you can't put it off any longer so you race upstairs, it wont take a minute, trousers down, and as soon as you sit the bloody doorbell rings. You know its him, but you're in mid flow, you've been holding it in for the past hour, and with the best will in the world and a lack of pelvic floor excersise and two babies you cannot stop it mid flow, so quick as you can you pull the chain, come out of the loo and there it is, you can see it from the landing, the orange and white card laying on the mat. 'We're sorry you were out when we called' I was in the flipping toilet. I jump up and down, screaming,m open the front door and theres a streak of red van racing up the road. Well thats that, the card says I can't go and collect it till tomorow. Why does that happen, how long do they actually stay on your doorstep, do the write the note out before they ring on the doorbell, should I have left a chair and a note saying 'please take a seat, I'm in the toilet'

The Interview.

Monday and the phone rang, and am I glad I hadn't started a bead yet. I turned the torch off, turned Thin Lizzy down on the radio and answered. My mind clicked into place as the caller asked if I was Catherine Francis, erm yes I am, thats me. I never ever get called Catherine, I was on my wedding day and my certificates from school and college say Catherine but I'm Kate. Anyway, it was it was the HR girly from our local hospital, asking me if the date and time for my interview were ok as I hadn't answered the email they'd sent me last week. What email, I have no email, I explain that 'Oh gosh it must have gone into my spam folder and yes the time and date would be fine. The time was 2.20pm and the date 2 days time. Fab, I applied for this job over 3 weeks ago, I race indoors to fire up the laptop and search the junk folder to find the email, yes there it is, part time clinic assistant in the neo natal unit.

What am I going to wear, and are purple painted nails the right look for the neo natal unit at the local hospital.

Yesterday up early, showered and off to the nail salon, nice tidy french manicure, shorter than usual but looking nice and clean. Over the road to get some black trousers, nothing, not a damn thing that will fit my humungous self so I gave up, went across to the bakers for a danish pastry and a roast beef and salad sandwich for lunch. They'll have to have me as me.

On with a clean top and my black jeans, well its the tidiest thing I have to wear and I'd already given up on the job anyway.

I'm shown into the parents room where 3 ladies are drinking coffee and theres a tv on a bracket on the wall. I start to chat to them and they are all Mums with babies in the unit, we chat about babies in general and then I'm called in.

Well it went ok I think, the two women interviewing were chatty, I think I said all the right things in the right place. They liked the fact that I made jewellery and wanted to know if I'd give it up should I get the job, I was honest and told them no, but I wasn't expecting to make my fortune in jewellery but quite honestly if I ended up making a grand a week out of it I would be off like a shot. They laughed and said good cause they could see that jewellery would be good for fundraising. I also explained that I was qualified as chef in a previous life to which they were very pleased as they could see this coming in handy for parties.

So, the jewellery is a plus point as is the ability to cater, but what about the other stuff. I do feel that I was maybe a little loud, I do have quite a gutsy laugh and my natural speaking voice is not exactly small and the whole unit was so quiet and I do think I may have goofed up a bit when I mentioned that I felt I was able to bring an emphatic approach to the job as a Mother myself and that I thought this was important to be able to do this, at which point the head sister announced that she didn't have children. Whoops. Anyway, I will recieve a phone call by Friday if I have the job, of which there are 2 available, they have someone else to interview. I get the feeling that after I left the conversation was a bit like, ' lovely girl but not for us' type of thing. Not sure if I want it to be honest but now I've been for the interview, I want it on the point of pride, does that makes sense, I don't want to be turned down.

Watch this space.

Funky Nora

Church Tea, Socks and Beads

Up early again this morning, the children have a rehearsal at Sunday school for the song they are going to sing next week on Mothering Sunday in church. Frankly as one of the recipients of said song I'd rather have fewer perfect notes and more lie ins. The PS is still unwell in bed so church on my own this morning. An uplifting service all about breaking the rules, Mmm. Then its the tea, why is it that people say 'there's one thing church is good at and thats making tea' obviously no one who has ever been to church and tasted church tea would agree. If you happen to find yourself on the 'tea rota' you have to carry a bucket of water from the tap in the sink in the loo beyond the vestry through the church to the urn at the back, fill it up and turn it on then set out the plastic cups. The tea pot sits next to the urn waiting for its ration of 6 teabags each Sunday, you can feel 3 sets of eyes watching and counting as you put them in. If you're really clever you can slip two in together if you use slight of hand, if you're not very clever or you had a few last night, you have to try and slip some extras in later, during the last hymn when you've slipped out of the congregation and before the help joins you to hand out the biscuits.

Home and the chicken in the oven fills the house with the aroma of, of, of melting plastic, why the hell does the chicken in the oven smell of melting plastic, I dash to the oven un-wrap the foil and there it is, a black molton lump of black which started out as the lid of the olive oil spray, how did I do that. It's not on the chicken, no one will know, I hoic it out making it shred like strands of black knitting wool and stick the chicken back in and open the back door to let the smell out. The PS is up and dressed, not happy but chatty, I make him some coffee and peel the potato's and while they're on I slip down to the shed.

I'm sitting there rifling through stuff on my desk and I'm drawn to my neighbours garden and their washing line. I'm not spying, its the view I have out of the window in front of my desk if I put a kink in my neck and stretch it 3 inches to the left, anyway the man next door (MND) is hanging out washing, but why is it all socks. the MND is Swiss, is that what they do, wash all the household socks together and hang them out, I start counting and get to 87 before my neck starts to hurt and he waves to me, he's a friendly chap, he talks alot, a very lot, (can you say very lot) and I find myself doing my best to avoid him most days.

Why do I find myself trying to avoid people. I once met this awful woman whilst doing a craft fair and we agreed to swap parties, I'd do a jewellery party for her, she'd do a hideously expensive candle party for me. We swapped dates but she cancelled mine the week before and I didn't really have time or want a candle party either but she was insistant. She knocked on the door one when I had a friend here for a morning of scrapbookig, we were in the kitchen and I could see her through the mottled glass in the door. 'We made a mad dash out the back door which is in a perfect line to the front door and then spent half an hour giggling like school girls rooted to the spot because she was calling through the letterbox to me, and the path to the shed is also in line with the front, and back door, we were stuck and it was raining, the dog was raving and the MND appeared to tell me there was someone knocking at my door. Half a bloody hour she stood there knocking and ringing and half a bloody hour we stood in the garden in the rain. After 5 mins silence we peared round the door and there she was writing a note. She assumed I must have been out and did I know I'd left my back door open. She would call again later. xxx

Where was I, Oh yes, socks, it was raining, why was he hanging out socks anyway the fool.
Made some nice beads after lunch Iris Orange (which for some reason comes out looking a sort of metalicy khaki) and cream, very nice.

Beads, Ironing and Illness.

Saturday and my poor sod of a husband (hereby known as PS) brings tea, Abbie brings toast, no butter, just toast, but she's 8 not quite 9 and toast with no butter is good for the diet. Its made quite, quite obvious that today I am going to have to do the bloody ironing. It's been coming for a while, little hints from the PS about no shirts and worse no pants. There are 3 ironing baskets in our bedroom and he make a point of tripping over them most days with large amounts of huffing and puffing and grunts to make the point.

So anyway, having got the kids up, showered and dressed because they have an all day rehearsal for Aladdin with their drama club, breakfasted and teeth cleaned, I ring to check on the rehearsal time and there is no rehearsal, it's next week, ok so I'm a useless social secretary but then again it is only 9.15am on a Saturday morning and both my kids are showered, dressed, fed and watered.

So this ironing, it sits at the bottom of the bed, slowly multiplying and looking at me, it gets riffled though everyday by the PS in the faint hope of finding something to wear. I fold and tidy it most days, and add to it at least 3-4 times a week but theres never a damn thing there worth wearing.

I spend 4 hours bloody ironing, all sodding morning, and it's done, I'd rather clean the oven or defrost the freezer than do the bloody ironing. It will sit now, around the arms and back of the sofa like a trophy, won at the ironing olympics for the next 3 days so that it can be noticed by all and sundry that I have done the bloody ironing and the baskets go back upstairs till next months bloody ironing session.

The PS is ill, he's got a sore throat, hacking cough, headache and general lethargy, I gave him paracetmol and cough mixure and lunch then he went back to bed, he's like a barking bear with a sore head so I went to the shed.

I'm on pink beads at the moment. It's hard getting a good vibrant pink but I've found it so I'm making pink beads in their hundreds, actually I'm exagerating I've made about 15 but it feels like hundreds. Since I forgot to dip my mandrels last time I worked I have to do it now. When you make a bead, you make it on a mandrel, a stainless steel rod which is dipped into a pot of bead release stuff which is a bit like grey sludge. I do them all at once now days. it needs a good shake before use and I used to give it a shake dip a mandrel, lid back on, dry mandrel in flame, make bead, shake, dip, dry make bead, etc. etc. until the occasion when I forgot to screw the lid back on and gave it a shake and my life stopped before me as the entire contents of this £11 pot of grey sludge emptied itself all over the shed, all over me and all over everything in the shed. If that isn't bad enough its the only pot of bead release I have and theres an inch left in the bottom, and it costs £11 a tub plus £2 postage so there I am scraping it off my jeans with the trusty pallette knife back into the pot. I'm down on the floor on my knees dipping my finger into the grey sludge scooping it back into the pot, wiping it off the storage boxes into the pot, if I'd had a straw I'd have been sucking it up back into the pot, you get the picture, no sludge, no beads. So nowdays I dip all my mandrels in one go and either leave them to dry or dry them in the flame before I start to melt.

6 nicely pink beads and 2 rather unusual creamy, greeny, browny ones and its dinner time. Toad in the hole and bread and butter pudding yum.

Glass Rods, Dried up Spiders and Wet Beds

So I wake up today to mutters of 'the cats wet my bed' as a sweaty pyjama'd 10 year old climbs in bed beside me in the space that my poor DH climbed out of a couple of hours earlier. The tinkle, jingle of a DS taking the place of silence as Mario races round a track in his cartoon car tells me it's time to get out if bed.

Breakfast had and dishwasher loaded with the remnants of last nights dinner, washing machine emptied into dryer and re-loaded with more dirty washing, where the hell does it come from. I make sure the kids are busy doing stuff (ok they are in front of the tv) and nip down to the shed. I say shed loosely in so much as it started life as a shed, a lovely bright orange shed from a lovely bright orange sheddy website but now painted forest green and erected in between the trellis and a yew tree, insulated throughout, floored and painted mint green and pink inside it's now my studio. But studio sounds pompous and proffessional so it's just 'the shed' But its mine and I can hide in there with my one cup of coffee coffee maker, the tumble dryer and a biscuit jar, containing a dried up small brown spider and a few crumbs. I'm on a diet.

There it is, in the corner of 'the shed' my torch, I don't have name for it, prehaps I should, I mean people name their cars and boats, why do people name inanimate objects? Should I call it Robert or Graham, would it perform better with a name. Anyway there it is, torch, screwed to the workbench via a nice tidy bracket that my Father in law made for it. Around the bench are my slow cooker, and jugs and jugs and pots of glass rods, all colours and types. and then theres the workbench itself, covered in more rods of glass and bits of broken glass and glass frit and steel rods and Ahhhh my trusty palette knife.

Switching on the torch for the first time each day is a bit of a ritual, I sit on my swivel chair, gleaned from Oxfam for a tenner, settle myself in for the long burn, bounce up and down, whilst kicking and twizzling the base round into position so that I can rest my feet on 2 of the 5 wheelie bits. I'm ready. I light the match and turn on the lamp and phoooooooooof off it goes roaring into life then phooooooof off it goes as it runs out of gas and I climb down from my perch to turn the gas on at the canister and start the process again.

Theres a lot to think about as you hold the glass rod in the flame, little bits of molten hot glass pinging off down your cleavage and into your lap. As that hot shiny red glob of glass turns liquid and I introduce it to the mandrel its wonderful to see a new bead apearing in front of your eyes. What am I going to do with it now, flowers, spots, stripes, frit. I reach for the stringer and start rows of dots then dots on dots and dots on dots and the phone rings. Now with the best will in the world I can't answer the phone while I've got a bead in the flame, for one the torch is noisy and I can't hear much over it and what I can hear is being drowned out by the radio blaring out Planet Rock in the background so I push the button and shout down it, 'ring back in 5 mins' and then hang up at which point it imediately rings again and I ignore it.

5 beads on and I have to stop. My feet are freezing and I need coffee to warm them. 'Get a heater' I hear you say. I have a heater, but I also have to have the door wide open and both windows open to diffuse the noxious gas that the torch makes so I don't keel over. So I don't have the heater on, my top half is lovely and warm. Anyway its lunch time and I've done 4 beads and a big mumma of heart which took a good hour to make, it will probably break in the slow cooker or when I take it off the mandrel but thats life and a kiln costs £600.

The kids have had enough of tv and are teaching the dog how to be a chicken. I don't think the dogs that bothered about chicken unless it comes with gravy and runs off down the garden when I open the back door.

It's half term and I decide to take the kids to Pizza Hut for lunch. Roll on Monday when I can be back in full swing and can spend the whole day in 'the shed'

What Exactly Does a Jewellery Designer Do Every Day!!!

Well what does one do every day. You may well ask. Call in tommorow and I'll tell you.