The Victorian Farm

Not strictly speaking a Scottish topic, but last night marked the start of a new BBC TV series called The Victorian Farm. I began by trying to do something else, with the television on in the background, but gradually became so enchanted by the whole programme that I just sat down and drank it all in. The presenters are informative and engaging, the setting is wonderful, the filming is consistently excellent - one for buying on DVD I think. Also, speaking as somebody who writes historical fiction, this series constitutes an invaluable research resource just as The Victorian Kitchen , some years ago. That older series has stayed with me and I still occasionally find myself using little nuggets of practical information in pieces of writing. I'm sure I'll do the same thing with The Victorian Farm. These programmes tread a fine line between Heritage History (and believe me, I've written audio tours and I know the pitfalls!) and originality. There have been a number of programmes about aspects of Scottish history very recently and none of them have held my attention as much as The Victorian Farm. But it's hard to explain exactly why. Sometimes I think it's to do with how portentously or otherwise the presenters wear their learning. There was a sense of the sheer enjoyment of history that flowed from the screen with The Victorian Farm - a genuine delighted enthusiasm from all concerned. It's irresistible. Watch it if you can.

Happy Christmas to All My Readers

with quite an unusual view of Glasgow Cathedral!

Ayr Gaiety Theatre

A good deal of my time over the past week has been spent considering Ayr Gaiety, our wonderful old variety theatre, which is threatened with closure, and by extension arts provision, or lack of it, here in South Ayrshire. I'm on the committee of a fairly newly formed arts association called the Ayrshire Arts Network. We are hoping to represent a gathering of all the arts and arts practitioners across all three parts of Ayrshire, but I suspect it was despair at the relative lack of interest in the arts and culture of any kind in South Ayrshire itself that initially brought us together. We are by no means elitist. But we are saddened that some of our elected councillors can see no further than golf and whisky when it comes to tourism provision and the economic wellbeing of the area. Not, mind you, that I have anything against golf or whisky - the latter particularly! But as far as touring shows, interesting plays, and genuine arts events of all kinds are concerned, you could be forgiven for thinking that there had been a dreadful cataclysm and the whole of South Ayrshire had simply broken off and fallen into the Firth of Clyde. The potential Gaiety closure is in the nature of the stone that starts an avalanche. For years they seem to have been selling off the family silver for short term gain. But now, I think the council itself has been surprised at the strength of feeling generated by the proposal. Watch this space for further developments!

Nevermore The Antique Market

Most of last weekend was taken up with an antique market in Glasgow which we thought - heaven knows what possessed us - might be worth attending. I normally trade from an online shop but over the years I have also helped my artist/ craftsman husband when he exhibited or demonstrated at various events. Sometimes it can be great fun, as when you get free space or are actually paid a small sum to demonstrate. You get to put on a show, chat to people and hand out leaflets and postcards. They enjoy watching and often ask interesting questions.

But I don't think I had realised just how soul destroying antique markets can be for the stallholders - or perhaps things have become worse over the years. And I don't think it can all be laid at the door of the 'credit crunch'. TV shows where participants regularly beat prices down so that they can make a profit by selling items at auction have a lot to answer for. It is, when you think about it, completely the wrong way round, which is why they do it. It's very hard to make any kind of profit that way. And the dealers who capitulate 'for the publicity' (What publicity? They don't get any!) are only succumbing to the kind of pressure that TV companies are very good at exerting. It is, after all, their job.

TV shows and car boot sales, that's the problem. Boot sales are where you expect items to be cheap, although in my experience even those have become more than penny-pinching. I once saw a man chop up a nice little wooden table at a boot sale. He had wanted a couple of pounds for it. He didn't want to take it home. People had been offering him 50p. He said that he knew if he left it by the bin at the end of the day somebody would take it. So he chopped it into small pieces first. As a good recycler I didn't really approve, but I understood him completely. A day's quibbling over twenty penny pieces induces the sort of misery that can only be relieved by chopping up small tables.

Anyway, back to the antique market. We spent saturday sorting, labelling, pricing, packing and dismantling the car in driving wind and rain so that we could get everything in. On saturday night I made the picnic and put it in the fridge. On sunday morning we got up at 5.30 loaded up the car and were on the road by 6.45, also phoning our son, who had offered to help with the unloading, to give him a wake-up call.

We were forced to take a detour; a stretch of the main road was closed because of an 'incident' and we nearly lost our way because of road works in Glasgow but still arrived in good time. The weather forecast had been reasonably good, but an icy and torrential rain was falling. We stopped along the road from the venue and between cold showers, hefted boxes of stuff, piles of pictures, stands, easels etc down the steep ramp into the hall. Then I went and found a parking place while my husband started to assemble our stall. By 9.45 we were more or less there, and drinking a coffee, our son was on his way home (possibly back to bed?) and the first 'customers' were arriving.

We had what we thought was a good cross section of items. Not boot sale stuff, that's for sure. And not junk. We were showing a collection of Alan's paintings at very reasonable prices (£80.00 for an original acrylic isn't exactly extortionate- in fact these are print prices) We had a selection of costume jewellery, some vintage clothes, a few vintage toys, textiles, etchings and other artworks as well as some gorgeous Indian and Chinese embroidery and a few other curiosities.


Did we have any customers? No.

Well, we made the price of the stall and the petrol. And that was it. No profits.

But - and I have to say this is all uncharacteristic of Glasgow, which is my favourite city in the whole world - it wouldn't have been so bad if, with a few welcome exceptions, the people hadn't been so uncongenial. There was a handful of pleasant individuals, including the lovely man and his daughter who appreciated the paintings, couldn't afford to buy them, but asked interesting questions and seemed to enjoy what they were looking at. There were a few other smiley people who chatted, and passed the time of day.

Sadly, they were vastly outnumbered by an army of grim elderly ladies (I know, I know, I'm heading there myself, although definitely without the scowl) who handled the stock as if they were sorting through garbage, and baulked at paying anything for anything. The last straw was the young woman who spent the best part of ten minutes stroking, fingering, opening out and looking at an utterly stunning Indian wedding sari, one of the most beautiful textiles I've had the good fortune to find: five yards and more of gorgeous damask with a golden pallau, encrusted with beads and embroidery, all hand done as well. Its only faults were a few loose threads here and there. I could think of many uses for it, the most simple being draped as a curtain. It came with an equally beautiful beaded veil in gold silk satin which I've decided to keep for myself since it makes a lovely evening shawl. Because the girl seemed so taken with it (and because our takings were non existent) I offered it to her for £25.00 which is about what you would pay for a cheap voile curtain in one of our better known household textile chains. This - for five yards of vintage hand beaded silk - seems almost laughable in retrospect. I had obviously taken leave of my senses. But that's the 'market' effect for you. Her husband had his wallet in his hand. Then her mum, watching the proceedings from a safe distance, persuaded her that it would be a waste of money.

As they left, minus the sari, she said 'if it's still here next time, I'll have it.'

No, I thought and by this time I confess I was feeling a bit grim myself. You won't. Because it won't be here, I won't be doing another antique fair, and even if I was, I wouldn't be selling such a fine piece of work at such a crazy price. But I held my tongue. I knew for certain that she would regret it later on, because I've done exactly that kind of thing myself.

After that, the day just got worse and worse as our smiles got more and more fixed.

So it was with a huge amount of relief that we packed up, fetched the car, hefted everything back in (even colder, still rainy) and embarked on the long drive home where we had to offload everything and reassemble the car . Then, completely exhausted, we sat on the couch with a couple of large glasses of wine , looked at each other and said 'never, ever again!'

Actually, it isn't strictly true, because we do have one more craft fair coming up, but that's a charity event, we'll be showing mostly Alan's paintings, it's something we do every year and - because it's close to home - it doesn't present too many logistical problems. If we sell a couple of pictures all well and good. If we don't it won't be a disaster and we'll have done a bit of promotion in a good cause on the side.

What intrigued us though was just how many of the particants remarked that they had had a 'good day.' By which (since we could see exactly what was going on) they seemed to mean that they had made the stall money and a little over. But why on earth would anyone want to do a couple of days of hard labour - just to cover their costs and have a few quid over?

Our son, trudging back through the rain to help us load up again, remarked 'the world's changing mum. And this isn't the way of it.' I reckon he's right. There's a lot to be said - especially with antiques - for being able to see things, handle them, learn about them. It's one of the nicest things about buying in the saleroom, being able to see and touch interesting old items as well as being able to learn about them from more experienced fellow dealers. But it was significant to me at least that the vast majority of our fellow stallholders looked like retired people. And when they stop, I wonder if anyone younger will be willing to do it? Which would be a pity, since I rather like buying items at these Antique Fairs. But if I think somebody is asking a fair price, I don't try to beat them down to peanuts. And I always handle the objects as though they are precious - which to the stallholder they so often are.

My Favourite Angel

I'm not a madly religious person, so I don't know why I love this angel (you can see him in the old citadel of Carcassonne) so much. He has been badly defaced, probably during the Mediaeval upheavals which involved the Cathars and the King of France and consequently has the look of a prize fighter after a particularly bad bout. But then perhaps he's Michael, who was - by all accounts - no mean contender himself.

He's a large stone personage with very shapely arms, and a wide, sensuous mouth and he simply exudes peace. I found myself loitering beside him for ages, taking photographs which didn't quite capture what it was that was so beautiful about him, and eventually just gazing and gazing. The guidebook dismisses him in a few short lines which is a pity because I think whoever made this was an accomplished sculptor. The angel manages to possess qualities of raw, real humanity and an intense spirituality at the same time. He's warm and protective, injured and numinous, all at once. You can tell I was smitten, can't you?

Apologies for long silence!

I've been otherwise occupied with all kinds of work - and a ten day holiday in the South of France where - unlike Scotland this year - the sun shone most of the time and it was warm! Vive the 'Auld Alliance' is what I say, especially because I also bought a few lovely old textiles at the French equivalent of a boot sale - a vide grenier, or 'empty attic' sale. I'll post pictures on here in due course because the chintz in particular is stunning.
However, just a wee thought, from Scotland, in the current worldwide financial difficulties: woke this morning to a banking person rabbiting on, on Radio Scotland. She was heard to observe, among much else, that Scotland is attractive to businesses because it is 'cheap'.
Which got me thinking.
Housing throughout most of Scotland is as expensive as most of England and considerably more expensive than many desirable areas in England, even in the South.
The cost of living is pretty steep here. Food is no cheaper than in England and in the remoter parts of the country, very much more expensive.
Fuel costs are the same, and since it's undeniably colder, for longer, our bills are arguably a good deal higher.
The council tax we pay up here is phenomenally high. In fact conversations with friends in England have often included questions such as 'What do you live in? A castle?' when in fact we live in a nice old terraced cottage.
So what exactly can it be about Scotland that is so 'cheap' for businesses?
Oh yes. I've guessed it. Wages are exponentially lower up here. Which means that most of us, in the current climate, are struggling to survive, as compared to our friends in the south.
And if you can do something about that Mr Salmond, you'd definitely get my vote.

Beautiful Borders in the Walled Garden at Culzean

There is an absolutely stunning wild flower border to be seen in the walled garden at Culzean Castle just now. The mixture is called Bohemian Rhapsody and it fills a whole large bed just beside the old head gardener's cottage. There is something profoundly beautiful about this riot of colour and I have to say it reminds me of a textile design, particularly those wonderful old Indian prints that so often involve a multitude of colourful flowers. I've been back twice now, just to look at it and the second time I took my camera so that I could share it with you. The conventional herbacious border there is also fabulous, but there is something so engaging about the haphazard arrangement of these colours and textures - nature always does it better!

One year on - I STILL hate my memory foam mattress!

Just realised that it is more than a year since we acquired the loathed MFM. And yes, folks, I still hate it, hate it, hate it! The only thing about it that has improved is the smell which has - I'm pleased to report - gone. Everything else about it is just as bad if not worse, and no - I haven't got used to it. In fact I have had the worst year's sleep of my entire life. Some nights I give up on it entirely and resort to my son's room (he is living elsewhere at the moment!) where I can sleep on his lovely, firm, big but undeniably bouncy sprung bed. I go to bed very very late in an effort to avoid the dreaded MFM, and get up very early because my sleep is so disturbed. I do sleep, obviously, but I never feel rested. I wake up with palpitations because I seem to get trapped in one spot, unable to move. I get a sore back and sore hips. But the very worst thing of all about it is the heat which is absolutely unbearable. I thought it was me, but it just doesn't happen on other mattresses.
I STILL HATE MY MEMORY FOAM MATTRESS.
Sadly, my husband still loves it. The only solution (I have investigated all possible options) would be to buy two matching single beds. He could have memory foam on one. I could have a nice normal sprung mattress on the other. That way I might resume some kind of normal sleep pattern. But at the moment, it's just too expensive to replace bed and bedding. Maybe some kindly bed manufacturer out there will take pity on me....

Tinder Box Britain?

Woke this morning, to BBC Radio 4's news programme, paraphrasing an article from the Observer in which somebody seems to have stated that - due to Global Warming, of course - much of Britain is tinder dry and in imminent danger of wildfires. As I listened to it the rain was beating against the windows yet again. You can read some more of this guff here.
I write this deep into one of the wettest summers I can remember (although I can certainly remember some which were equally wet!) Far from being tinder box dry much of Scotland is utterly and completely rainsoaked. So is much of Wales and Northern Ireland and a friend tells me that her garden in rural Oxfordshire is pretty much the same. The usual Atlantic fronts have beset us in unrelenting droves.
So which bits of Britain does he mean exactly? Last week the Scottish news was informing us in suitably alarmist tones that we could expect lots and lots of flooding nationwide - because of Global Warming. Nothing whatsoever to do with our national obsession with concreting over our gardens or building lots and lots of houses on the floodplains of our rivers and streams then?
Are we to fry or drown? Which is it?
No wonder we become cynical about so much that is written about the environment. Presumably the findings about tinder box Britain are based on some kind of statistical model which refers to the dry spells but doesn't include this year's torrents. Our weather is certainly behaving badly, but the analysts who are as changeable as the weather aren't helping.

More information about an interesting old Paisley Shawl

A little while ago I was blogging about an interesting old Paisley Shawl which I'm currently listing on eBay. I didn't know whether it had been mended or not, because it seemed to fall into two semi matching halves. Now that it has finally stopped raining here I have been able to hang this fabulous textile up outside in the garden and get a better look at it. It seems obvious now (as it wasn't before!) that the divide is quite intentional. This would have been folded in the middle and then worn as a wrap, with one or other side showing - and as somebody pointed out to me, it would look as though the lady wearing it possessed two somewhat different shawls!

Glasgow East - just have to mention it!

'Catastrophe for Labour as SNP triumphs in Glasgow East · Nationalists overturn 13,500 majority in heartland.'
That was how the Guardian reported the results of the Glasgow East by-election today. And in a blog called The Scottish Home, even though I'm usually writing about textiles and gardens and things like that, I just have to say something about it before I go back to the latest novel - called the Physic Garden - which is progressing nicely at about 30,000 words.
I've said it before on this blog, and I'll say it again. I love Glasgow. It's my favourite city in the world. Its people are surely among the most friendly, bright, irreverent, inventive and creative in existence. But the city's east end has extreme problems of poverty and deprivation that all these many years of a Labour government have done little to address. The fact that this poverty sits cheek by jowl with the newly gentrified Merchant City, where £1000 handbags and designer chic are commonplace, doesn't really help.
I'm no political economist, but I remember attending a conference a few years ago and hearing somebody speak about how he had taken photographs of some of those sixties tower blocks in Glasgow with heat detecting cameras in an effort to assess why the buildings were so disastrous for the residents - full of damp and bronchitis-inducing black mould. Asthma was endemic among the children. Clothes were ruined. The residents themselves were always being blamed for this. They were boiling kettles, breathing, that kind of thing. (I kid you not!) He said 'we looked at the pictures and wondered what all those little blocks of insulation were. Then we suddenly realised that they were curtains in the windows. We had taken the pictures at night. The drawn curtains were providing infinitely better insulation for each of the flats than the walls!'
Over the past few weeks, the English press have sent representatives north to trash Glasgow's east end. And they've made a pretty good job of it. A.A. Gill (gonnae stick to cookery pal?) in the Sunday Times produced a predictably glib piece of non analysis. None of it has gone unnoticed. The East End has serious problems but it is by no means as wholly bleak a dystopia as was painted. And this from guys who live in London for God's sake. A wee biblical quote comes to mind: 'And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?' Away and consider a few beams, eh?
All of which amounts, I suppose, to a lot of votes for the SNP. As a lifelong and instinctive Labour party supporter myself, I voted for them (the SNP that is) in the Scottish parliament and will probably vote for them in a general election too unless Labour stops marching us relentlessly backwards towards 1984 and lecturing us about how we don't really understand them.
I started watching the election results programme last night but when Labour demanded a recount at about 1.30 I decided that enough was enough and went to bed. Still I put on the radio only to realise that Radio Scotland stops broadcasting around midnight and switches to Five Live which is the general UK news programme. I drifted off to sleep only to wake up in the early hours when the results were being announced. We got a wee chat with a professor from Strathclyde University, and then suddenly we were off on the Obama trail. No more analysis or comment from Scotland. And it's that sort of thing, folks, that really gets your goat when you live north of the border. That and the relentlessly London centred news. Wall to wall Boris when it was the London mayoral elections. SATS disasters which we don't have in Scotland. (We don't have the dreaded SATS up here but we do have assessments in reading, writing and maths, pupils are tested "when ready" and there's no big deal made of it. It's marked internally. The results are private. Teachers do their job. It works. )
And don't get me started on the new weather maps which condense the whole of this huge country into a distorted squidge at the top end of the screen. And as somebody pointed out recently on a comment programme, Glasgow has had a knife problem for years, but it's only when it starts happening in London that the politicians suddenly start focussing their hand wringing on it.
So food and fuel prices may have a lot to do with the election result as Labour would like to believe. But a general dissatisfaction with Westminster, coupled with the perception that the SNP have done pretty well so far is surely an even bigger factor.
Enough politics for one day. I'm away back to my textiles and my book.

Glasgow River Festival

I was at the Glasgow River Festival with my son yesterday (husband is away sailing, or rather wind bound in Balamory, sorry Tobermory at the last count) and can't post any pictures because I forgot my camera but you can visit the official website here! Ever since the traditional shipbuilding industries failed it seems to me that Glasgow has turned its back on its fabulous river, successive councils not recognising that a great river can be the finest asset a city will ever own. Go to any of the great European cities from Paris to Vienna and the river is part of many of its best visitor attractions - as well as a thoroughfare in itself. For many years Glasgow was the exception. Well, no more it seems. Over the past few years Glasgow has rediscovered its river: new developments, new bridges, new attractions. Yesterday there were free shuttle buses from the city centre down to the big exhibition centre on the banks of the Clyde. There was jet ski racing, historic and interesting vessels of all kinds, including tall ships, exhibitions, and displays which included old fire engines (peculiarly attractive these!) - and beach volley ball which son insisted on watching for a bit, only to retire disappointed - by the relative tameness of the sport, if not the skimpiness of the girl's attire. But it was a windy day, so maybe that was the problem!
Later in the afternoon we got a bus back to the city centre and ate a very late lunch/early dinner in Dino's in Sauchiehall Street (something of a Glasgow/Italian institution this, excellent food, even more excellent service.)
One of the nicest things about the day from my point of view was that it was a brief return to the time when my son was a wee boy and suddenly stopped being a baby and started being a really pleasant companion. Obviously he has grown up and away and independent, and I wouldn't want it any other way but just sometimes it's lovely to have a real mother/son day - wander about with absolutely no agenda other than enjoyment and conversation. Standing on one of the footbridges over the river, and watching the seaplane landing - an enchanting and emotional moment - was one of the high points of the afternoon. For a brief moment I don't think it mattered whether we were this middle aged woman standing with a viking at her side - or a much younger mum with the wee blonde lad in glasses he used to be!

Yet another interesting old Paisley Shawl

There is a 'mystery' about this very large paisley shawl which I'm currently listing in my eBay store. I'm sure somebody out there may be able to solve it for me. There is a small black centre panel - but it is really only a 'half' panel as you can see from the photograph. And when you look closely, you can see that the shawl consists of two large and definitely matching pieces, which have been joined together. Even the pattern on the epaulette ends matches - but they have been woven together, and not stitched! I've never come across one like this before. The story with these paisleys is that the early shawls had very large centres. In fact the earlier shawls were much more delicate affairs altogether, longish but much narrower, with highly decorated ends, designed for wearing over those lovely 'Jane Austen' fashions.

There were square shawls too, and you can see one here, but with the advent of the crinoline, a certain size became necessary if they were to be worn over those huge skirts as warm winter wraps. Even so the early shawls followed the theme of having a large centre panel with a beautiful woven border, the 'boteh' or wonderful fern patterns often intruding into that centre. I sold one like that earlier this year, and very beautiful it was too.

But as the century progressed the centres got smaller and smaller until with the later nineteenth century shawls there was no centre panel at all. When I hung this up to examine it more closely, I wondered at first if it had been stitched together, but the two pieces have definitely been woven together. I love these textile mysteries and - being a writer - I got to imagining that perhaps this had been a shawl with a full centre panel which sustained some damage early in its life. And perhaps - this being discovered very close to the area where the shawl might have been made in the first place, ie the West of Scotland - it was taken back to a Paisley weaver who simply cut out the small bit of damage and did a brilliant weaving restoration job on the two halves. This was not a throw away society, and a shawl would have been a precious item, so make do and mend was the only option!

The Hotpoint Fridge Freezer, Curry's, and call centre hell.

Even as I write this there is an engineer in the kitchen attempting (for the third time) to fix our 18 month old Hotpoint Fridge Freezer. Bought because we thought the name some kind of guarantee of quality. Hmmm. Yesterday, when I opened the freezer door to take out the ice cream to eat with the strawberries for lunch (we had a visitor!) I had that sinking feeling you get when you realise that everything has gone slightly soggy. On the previous two occasions it was the opposite problem - everything in the fridge was freezing - frostbitten lettuce and tomatoes included. Overnight things just got worse until by this morning it was clear that although the motor seemed to be running, and the light was on, there was nobody home in terms of chilling power.
Overnight too, it quickly became obvious that after the last engineer's visit, I had mislaid the service policy documents. Aaaaargh. They probably, said my husband, went the same way as the car tax disc. That was eventually found, still in its envelope, at the bottom of the dustbin. Not the nice clean blue recycling bin, you understand but the slightly smelly green household waste bin.
A frenzied search of all folders, drawers, cupboards, and even the insides of cookery books, lasting several hours eventually resulted in the discovery of the original receipt, service numbers and handbook, filed away under a completely non intuitive heading. But still no policy documents. Nevertheless, knowing that I had paid to renew the service agreement earlier this year (about three weeks before the damn thing started to go wrong - phew!) I got up, made coffee, phoned the recommended number clipped onto the fridge receipt and immediately entered the Kafka-esque universe of the call centre.
It was one of those voice recognition processes which never can quite recognise my voice. It understood Hotpoint, and Fridge Freezer but baulked at the date of purchase. Eventually, on option one, I got through to a polite human being who told me that I was definitely insured, but since I was calling a service centre, I would need an authorisation number, and that could only come from Curry's. He gave me a number to call which would allow me to confirm said number, as well as agreement number and possibly replacement documentation. I dialled the number he had given me and realised, half way through the same voice recognition process that I was back where I had started, calling the service centre. I spoke to a different polite human being (one with either a summer cold, or such ferocious hay fever that she was practically incoherent). She confirmed that I would have to get an authorisation number from Curry's and gave me a number which I realised was the same number. Option six, she said, helpfully.
I dialled again. More voice recognition. It was beginning to understand me, familiarity I suppose.
But - dear God - I was back where I started, with the service centre. Moreover, there was no option six. There were only four options. I listened again and decided to try a different option. Can't remember now whether I pressed three or four, but I got through to another nice polite human being who said 'the whole system has changed.' He quickly summoned all my policy details, gave me my agreement number (I am insured until 2012!) and an authorisation number to boot.
He has promised to send me new policy documents within the next few days.
I called back to give the service centre my precious authorisation number and book an engineer's visit and pointed out (politely - the whole transaction was extremely polite!) that the information they might be giving customers in similar circumstances was somewhat out of date. The number worked but there was no option six. I honestly don't think she believed me.
The moral, I suppose, is - whatever you do, don't lose the documentation! When the new agreement arrives, I'll be filing it under home insurance. And not in the bin.
The fridge freezer is working again.
For how long? That's the question.

Son and Scenery

Thought you might like to see a few nice pictures of my large viking like son, who is currently looking for work, preferably in the computer games industry - although I reckon he could be a model, but then I'm his mum so I would, wouldn't I? He's blonde, blue eyed and a nice lad too. He trains regularly at karate. Martial arts are - as well as the whole world of creative computer games - his main passion in life, both doing and writing about them but he's mad about other sports as well: squash, rowing, ice skating and weight training, to name but a few.

You'll find his own video games blog online at http://gamesecosse.blogspot.com. There's a bit of Scottish scenery in here as well, of course. The gunnera plants are at Culzean Castle on the Ayrshire coast, and still bigger than he is, although he's all of 6ft 4 inches tall. Like all mothers, I find myself wondering where on earth the time goes. It seems like only last week that I was taking pictures of him toddling about at Culzean in his wee red boots!

Marks and Spencer and Saving the Planet.

On Saturday afternoon I trudged wearily down the High Street of our nearby town and went into Marks and Spencer's food department. I needed something quick and delicious for the evening meal, it was late, the town was impossibly busy, and I was tired. There is no real car park in this particular Marks and Sparks. It is a town centre store with a single horrendous lane where you can pull in to pick up your shopping, if you are brave. Otherwise, it's a case of hauling everything with you to the nearest car park.
Now before I go any further, let me say that I'm all for recycling. My whole eBay business is based on recycling and nobody is happier than me to see a piece of lovely old linen being given a new lease of life, used and treasured by a new owner. I'm no fan of plastic bags either, having done a fair bit of sailing in my life, and seen the mess they make of certain West of Scotland beaches. I usually have a reusable shopping bag, and in fact the back of my car is always full of bags, wine carriers etc.
But on this occasion, I had nothing with me except my handbag. I filled a wire basket with more than I had intended of course. The delicious meal (Marks and Sparks food is undeniably good, though pricey) plus some strawberries, plus yoghurt and their strong leaf tea, of a kind which is getting harder and harder to find here in Scotland. I queued at the check-out and when I got there, the assistant said in what can only be described as accusing tones 'Don't you have your carrier bag with you?' This is what happens, you see. Our politicians used that horrible, hectoring, nannying tone, and it's infectious.
'Oh, no' I said, waking up from what had been a queue induced trance. 'I'm sorry. I don't.'
'Well' she said, 'Do you want a 5 pence carrier or a 15 pence carrier?'
I looked at my far too expensive shopping. I looked at her. I looked at the long queue behind me.
'Do you mean' I said, 'That you are proposing to charge me for a bag?'
'Yes' she said, a little smugly.
I did a very quick assessment of the situation. The long haul back up the town flashed before my eyes. The fact that I could buy just about everything on there in Morrisons, much more cheaply. The fact that I don't believe for one instant that Marks and Sparks really care all that much about saving the planet. The fact that they didn't have - for instance - brown bags for people who might have genuinely forgotten their reusable, environmentally friendly carriers. The fact that there was a long queue behind me. The fact that the assistant was unfriendly. It took seconds.
I said - quite politely, I think - 'In that case, I don't think I'll bother thank-you' turned on my heel and walked off. I could hear the assistant ringing for help, even as I left the store.
It was the single most satisfying thing I had done all weekend.
As I said at the start - I don't really hold with plastic carriers and often shop in Lidls, where the food is cheap and excellent, and where I am completely happy to trolley all my stuff to the car and pack it for myself in an assortment of bags and boxes.
But - here in the UK at least - environmentalism has infected some of our big commercial organisations with a kind of smug 'take it or leave it' attitude which sits very ill with the fact that they are expecting us to spend more and more of our hard earned cash.
It is exactly like a bunch of slightly overweight politicians who have just voted themselves a vast sum in additional 'expenses' presuming to lecture us on wasting our food....
Grrrr.

Affordable Art

Have just started to build a wee gallery entry for my husband Alan Lees on the lovely 'Affordable British Art' website. This is a brilliant venture, easy to use, and the paintings look smashing on there. What's also good about it is that you can change things around frequently, and can also list prints and even sculptures as well.

It's also a site that seems to be getting a good deal of publicity. I've been browsing some of the work on there, and it's very impressive - a site that welcomes you in, and is very easy to use both for artists and those thinking of buying an artwork. You buy direct from the artist as well, which allows the public to commission a piece of work if that's what they want to do. I'm convinced that online is very much the way forward for art sales, so we'll see what happens!

Graduation at Glasgow University

Our son graduated from Glasgow University with an Honours BSc in Mathematics this week - we attended the deeply impressive ceremony on tuesday, fairly bursting with pride! He's the big blonde Viking in the middle of the picture, wearing his kilt and his robe. The ceremony - which was preceded by a reception in the maths department - was held in the university's stunningly beautiful Bute Hall. Glasgow, which is among the top 1% of universities in the world, has more listed buildings than any other university. The ceremonial was fabulous - everything running like clockwork (well, they have had 600 years to get it right!) even down to a wee rehearsal of the singing of the academic hymn, Gaudeamus Igitur, for the audience of proud parents, grandparents etc. Then the students went up one by one to be 'capped' and have their silk lined hoods placed over their heads. Frankly, it was magical.

Afterwards we gathered in the quad (bit showery, as you can see, but very warm) to drink buck's fizz and indulge in congratulations all round. It was lovely to see so many fine young people gathered in one place. It was lovely too to hear the Vice Chancellor impressing upon them all the sheer magnitude of their achievement. I think for the youngsters it was the first time they had really paused to think about exactly what this was - the culmination of so many years of trying, of working, of overcoming all kinds of problems. Esssentially, he was telling them that they ought to be proud of themselves, ought to take their learning out into a wider world, and continue to surprise themselves and those around them in all kinds of positive ways. Our son's wonderful advisor - long past retirement age, but staying on to help his students - was waiting to take lots of photos of his advisees. He was an academic advisor in the old style, keeping in touch with his students, caring about them, writing to them and even taking all his final year students out for a meal - and it was obvious that the respect was mutual, for they all loved him too, not just for his fine mind, but for all the time and trouble he took with them. Afterwards we went off to a restaurant called The Ubiquitous Chip for a long, leisurely and very pleasant meal, before heading home. Our son, meanwhile, went off to party into the early hours....

Now, of course, the hunt is on for a job. We woke up wishing we could have the whole day over again.

A Walk in the Woods

Earlier this year, my husband, sculptor Alan Lees, completed a group of four wildlife woodcarvings for a woodland walk. It was the official opening today - after which we all - visiting dignitaries, plus a group of children from one of the local primary schools, who had been involved with the project from the outset, plus assorted villagers and dogs, all tramped through the glen (beautiful at any time of year, but stunning just now) to admire the carvings and the scenery. Nice to see a wee group of kids so involved and interested. Alan is trying desperately to stop carving at the moment . The work is so heavy and dirty that his health suffers. Every time he undertakes a big commission like this, he seems to be floored with arthritis and breathing problems for a few weeks after. He is now making a determined effort to divide his time between painting and willow sculpture. He keeps being offered carving work but now tries to persuade likely customers that a willow sculpture might be a better option. They don't last as long as solid oak, for sure, but if they are treated they will keep going for many years - they can be very beautiful, like drawings in the air that work with line and light - they aren't half as heavy and dirty to make, they are cheaper and they are made with sustainable locally grown willow - so they are good for the environment as well! What more could you ask for?

A Lovely Old Printed Paisley Shawl

I'm currently listing a very beautiful old printed paisley shawl here on eBay. These are usually deemed to be less collectable than the woven variety and they were certainly a cheaper option, but these days they are still rare - they were quite a delicate item, and it isn't often that one survives in this condition. A closer examination of this particular piece illustrates why it has survived. Possibly dating from as early as 1850 (it has a large cream centre, with long 'boteh' or ferns at each end, and the pattern intrudes prettily into the middle) it has obviously been cherished. The colours are as bright and clear as the day it was made, and the few holes - a couple in the middle, and a little patch of wear in the coloured border - have been very carefully darned. I like to imagine that this might once have been a wedding gift from a young husband to his wife. These fine wool shawls, printed in lovely clear colours, would have been used as a lighter option in spring and summer. Nowadays people use them as throws and wall hangings. So long as you keep them out of direct sunlight and away from moths, they could last for another hundred and fifty years - although I doubt if many people nowadays could do this wonderful subtle neat darning! I certainly couldn't.