Happy New Year! I knew I’d catch up eventually.

My kids’ school didn’t go back until the 9th of Jan, which meant I was able to put off being all new and shiny until the rest of you lot had finally got over your hangovers. Ha, last laugh goes to the tired parent with no social life! Maybe.
Anyhoo, I love New Year. I feel like a walking cliche, but I also really do feel like it’s a new start. OK so I’ll put “improve my grammar” on next year’s list, but I kept this year’s short and sweet.

I also posted it on Facebook, which not only puts it right out there to guilt me if I ever trip up, but, most unexpectedly, drew a whole heap of peer support! I have Ms Moll of Sheffield Steel Roller Girls offering Roller Derby support, as well as another friend wanting to take me just to learn how to skate without resembling an octopus being thrown across a room. One step at a time eh. I have an experienced fell runner offering me advice (I’ve said once I’m fit enough to run for a bus without gasping, I’ll take him up on that), two personal recommendations for great tattoo artists, a crochet teacher and a crochet learning-partner, and a lovely comment telling me “you already shine, so you can tick that one off” (aw thanks Jenny!). And of course the requisite sarcastic (but utterly wonderful) friend with the helpful reply: I fell running once.

As another friend pointed out though, “everything on your to do list sounds painful or dangerous”. From which you can tell that I’m either incredibly brave, or incredibly ignorant. But, life is too short not to do crazy stuff.

[ps] Our Christmas treat was going to be the panto, but we left it too late. So we thought we’d go to the cinema, but we couldn’t get the bank loan (seriously, have you tried taking a family to a weekend film?). So we thought we’d do something we’ve never done before, and we went… ice skating! Awesome, crazy, hilarious fun. We’re going to do new stuff more often. In fact, I’m going to add that to my list. You should too.

Welcome to Lansley’s Britain. The doctor will see you now, but only if it’s really important.

I went to see my GP yesterday. Well, I went to see *a* GP – do people still have specific named doctors? I dunno. Anyway, I went along, after much (several months) procrastination about how there isn’t really anything wrong with me, I just need to man up a bit. FYI, I have (in all likelihood) nerve damage in my right ear, which can result in an acutely painful buzzing and distortion of sound in noisy environments. A primary school classroom, for example. Hey, guess where I work! So I wanted to ask what was wrong with my ear, and what could be done about it. Also, I’ve had lower back trouble for, like, ever, due to somehow having scoliosis of the spine when I was a teenager, so I wanted to get some advice and see a physio. Reasonable?

The first thing the GP (who looked about 17 – even younger than most police officers) said was “Well, we’ve only got ten minutes, so which thing is the most important?”. OK, great, I’m really not feeling the sympathy here. I explained about my back, filling in chronological details about previous visits, wondering why she couldn’t just read the notes on her screen. She said referring me for physio wouldn’t be any different to treatment I’d had in the past, so I should just do some basic stretches and exercise. I insisted I didn’t want to do anything spine-wise without checking with a physio to make sure I was doing it right (oh yes, and I mentioned I *had* tried exercise, and each time it left me in agony for about 24hrs afterwards). She looked put out, but sighed and filled out a referral form.

Ears? Is your hearing normal? Er, I dunno, I think so. How the hell would I know if it wasn’t? (I didn’t actually say that last bit). No, nothing we can do. I mean, I could refer you to the ENT dept at the hospital, but they wouldn’t be able to help either, so if you don’t think it’s that important we’d be better saving the £400 it would cost to send you there. Now get out, you time-wasting, money-wasting whiner (she didn’t actually say that last bit). But she really did say the bit about saving £400.

Let’s skip past the possibilities of proper hearing tests, or earplugs, or anything else this supposedly omniscient GP failed to mention, and just concentrate on the complete lack of patient care here. She told me upfront my time in her presence was limited, she asked me to decide if my problems were important, she implied I was asking for something useless (more physio), and she finished up by telling me any further enquiries about such trivial issues would cost, sorry “waste”, the NHS £400.

I’d like to round off with a snappy retort, but I’m too cross. And I’m probably wasting everybody’s precious time anyway.

Working with a tale-teller

One of the very best parts of my working life is the chance to work/play alongside the inimitable Shonaleigh – described on her website as “a modern day Shaharazad”, she is a wonder weaver, a tale-teller, and a privilege to work with.

She got me running craft workshops in two primary schools in October, creating artworks to decorate

Pause for thought. And life.

Blog all quiet; normal service will be resumed ater the summer holidays. Yeah, I was going to tell you all about the lovely and totally unexpected presents I got from the teachers I’ve been helping

and how wonderful and healing it was to spend a weekend at Festival at the Edge, listening to captivating stories and groovy music, and letting the kids run free.

Panic Circus and my daughter, doing their festival stuff

About my displeasure at Sheffield City Council for cancelling/refusing to fund PlayDay this year, despite its proven popularity. How much I loved The Illusionist. How a stay at Warwick Folk Festival was not only free (one of the many joys of being involved with a morris team), but full of great music, and better friends.

Bass Birds n Beats. Superb.

Kirsty Bromley, bringer of Pimms. We love you.

And I could have expounded at length some half-baked opinion on the recent riots, and subsequent political and judicial tub-thumping. I could have entertained you with tales of all the crazy songs (and actions) my kids are learning from their American cousins, and how much extra energy and laughter they’ve brought to a tired house.

What calm, sensible children

I could have talked about the ‘Squash and a Squeeze’ method of home expansion, and how cool it is to have my big brother and not-so-little nieces back in the country, and in my house.

But that’ll have to wait. Or indeed just dissipate into personal memory and unsorted photos. By the time I get back to my blog I’m sure there’ll be something completely different to bore you with. Have a great August, y’all!

Wooden ducks for sale in Warwick

Healing Cocoa

Sometimes life can get a little hectic. Sometimes life can get a lot hectic. I wanted to share with all you poor frazzled things out there, my recipe for what my husband calls Magic Hot Chocolate. A drink you can pour into your favourite mug and snuggle up with. OK so it’s not really “mine”, it’s adapted from a recipe in James Wong’s “Grow Your Own Drugs”, but that’s not important. What’s kind of important is that James Wong claims it will ‘calm anxiety and promote sleep’ (and I can tell you, it really does). But what’s most important is that it tastes so utterly divine you may never be able to order hot chocolate in a cafe again. Which you shouldn’t anyway, because cafe hot chocolate is always nasty and much too sweet. But I digress. Cut to the chase woman!

OK, you will need:
Mug of your choice, filled with milk (also of your choice)
Cocoa powder (FairTrade, of course. You can’t expect good sleep on a bad conscience.)
Small square of plain chocolate, grated or cut small (ditto)
Shaving of orange peel
Sprig of fresh lemon balm leaves*
1tsp valerian root (search for online supplier – mine’s gone bust)
pinch cinnamon
pinch allspice

Whisk up the cocoa into the milk, then put everything except the chocolate into a pan and heat gently to almost boiling point. Stir around until the chocolate is melted, turn off the heat. Leave to infuse for a minute or two, and strain back into your mug. Get your jim-jams on and snuggle up cosy somewhere. Enjoy. And guess what, there’s NO SUGAR in it (apart from what’s in the tiny square of chocolate), so if you fall asleep without brushing your teeth, it won’t kill you

*Lemon Balm. You do have lemon balm in your garden don’t you? You don’t?! Yeesh, get some now.

Melissa officinalis

Bees love it, and it grows like a weed. Seriously, before you go and pay good cash for a plant, ask your neighbours – it’s one of those plants that grows and spreads and lots of people hate it. Just pull up a clump and stick it in a pot. Or, take a handful of leaves and stick them in your freezer (ditto orange peel: you may as well shave the whole orange. Citrus zest is great for freezing). It’s not a herb people use much, so chances are they’ll be grateful for the pruning. Oh and did you know? If a plant has “officinalis” in its Latin name, it means it was a recognised medicinal herb way back when. Of course, it still is, but I mean, when the plant was named, it was. How about that.

Night night, sweet dreams

The “Good Enough” Parenting Theory

This Easter just gone, my daughter had her 10th birthday. I have been a parent now for a whole decade. You’d think I’d have got the hang of it.

I’m not sure we ever do, though – ‘get the hang of it’ – despite what the glossy mags, the internet, the celebrity mums and the self-help books would have us swallow. So I believe I speak up for many of us parents (I believe I do. Maybe I don’t. Maybe it’s just me. Shit.) when I stand up and say “I am a good enough parent.”

Yes, there are people who can successfully juggle raising children, keeping a tidy and well-fed home, their own job – or even business – and a social life. I know people like this, and it’s hard not to feel rubbish by comparison. They don’t even have tearaway, maladjusted children, or a nervous breakdown. They are lovely people, with lovely, happy kids. It’s so unfair.

Angelina Jolie, having it all. Sigh.

But yeah, so there are people like this, but I’m not one of them. And I suspect (congratulations if I’m wrong), neither are you. If you’re a parent, of course. And it’s taken me a while to learn, but …*pause for effect*… it’s OK to say that.

A very civil disobedience

“My dear Miss Havisham, would you like another cup of tea?” “Oh how charming, Mr Cholomondly-Warner, I believe I would, thank you.” “I must say your embroidery is too delightful, what exquisite stitching.” “Oh sir, you are too kind, I do protest! Although, I must confess I didn’t expect ‘protest’ to be anything like this. Do you feel as conspicuous as I, Mr Cholomondly-Warner, sitting on this hard floor?” “Indeed I do, Miss Havisham, but the constabulary gentlemen don’t seem to mind our being here, so do calm your nerves. Grape?”

Well OK, so it wasn’t quite like that. If you’ve been paying attention you’ll know that Sunday 10th April was scheduled as a day of craftivism, in railway stations across the country, to protest the government’s plans to hike rail fares yet higher – with no corresponding plan to plough any of the increased profit back into the rail network. Paid through the nose to travel by train recently? Get a seat? Eee, you were lucky.

A Railway Adventure into Craftivism

Craftivism? What is she on about now? Girl, are you making this up?

Pfft, like I’d make stuff up Nope, craftivism is real.

“Craftivism is a way of looking at life where voicing opinions through creativity makes your voice stronger, your compassion deeper & your quest for justice more infinite.” (Betsy Greer, “Craftivism.” Encyclopedia of Activism and Social Justice. 2007)

There are many advocates and practitioners of active Craftivism out there – the one I can credit with getting me into all this in the first place is the lovely Radical Cross Stitch, based in Melbourne – but this last week your Disobedient Child has allied herself firmly and shamelessly to the Craftivist Collective. And for why? Because I received an invitation, or maybe it was a challenge, from no less than Mr X-Stitch himself, to join in with A Railway Adventure: stitching a fabric train of protest to fight for fair transport fares.

Craftivist Collective, in collaboration with campaigning group Climate Rush, have organised stitch-ins at railway stations across the country on Sunday 10th April. People will be enjoying a nice cup of tea (what could be more civilized?) and stitching their protest/facts/messages onto fabric carriages, which will then be collected together and sewn into bunting and presented to Philip Hammond MP, Minister for Transport. A man who really should, given his job, spend a bit more time actually working out a half-decent public transport policy instead of shrugging Gallic-ly and saying ‘what, you’ve got a car haven’t you?’. Or words to that effect.

So anyway, as no-one else has organised a stitch-in in Sheffield, I have. If you’re still reading, you’re obviously curious, so why not come along on Sunday and see what I’m blathering on about. Join us for the stitch-in – I have fabric pens for non-sewers, there’s no excuse – or just share our tea and biscuits and have a good chin-wag. Don’t just wonder what craftivism is, come and find out!

Sheffield station, 1-4pm, Sunday 10th April. Get in touch for more details, but otherwise, see you there!

(PS: I have not credited these photos, as I found them through Google. If they are yours, please let me know. And, nice!)

Geek Craft FTW

Have just branched out my Picky Miss enterprises into custom-order geek embroidery. Well, who wouldn’t? Go take a peek. Go on, you know you want to…

Ryu - FIGHT!

Meanwhile, back in the real world…

Here’s a quick update on the Holme Lane Community Garden,  just in case you were wondering.  Our dear developer is still dragging his heels, our helpful council planing department are doing much the same.  The broken toilet has been replaced, with another broken toilet, and  our excellent bunch of volunteers has been hard at work repairing the damage done by the exchange.  New grass seed has been sown, and is growing beautifully.  Bulbs are coming up, the sign’s been repainted, weeds have been pulled, litter and dead plants have been cleared.  Much the same as ever, really.

Before...

...after!

We can’t be bothered to sit around and wait for the powers that be to pass down their decisions from on high.  We’re just going to get on with it.  I mean, that’s how come there’s a garden there anyway.

If you’d like to see more pictures, the rather wonderful FairyNormal has put a set up on her Flickr stream, go take a peek.

One thing does bother me though.  When I left the house today, I had a big bag of wildflower seeds with me, but now I don’t have it any more.  Or rather, I have an empty bag. I think the seeds may have fallen out as I crossed the ‘contested’ land next to the garden (I had to, I couldn’t walk across the newly sown grass).  Oops.  Butterfingers.