Saturday 30 October 2010

Friday 29 October 2010

Doh



Managed to persuade J and I to pose in front of a huge corrugated barn and then again in front of a haystack - couldn't believe my luck! Then I went and lost them all uploading. Not sure that they'll tolerate a repeat performance.
These photos from earlier in the day.

Saturday 16 October 2010

Milton Keynes






I'm guessing these trees were planted forty odd years ago when the new MK was built. They've been sculpted carefully over time to form a really dramatic drum shape - and, it's just sitting at the corner of a car park.

Friday 15 October 2010

Blind Spots



Been thinking about Joe's accident, and how, talking to him, it was obvious that he had a complete blind spot about the safety of what he was doing. I was talking to Mum about it and she said that she'd heard somewhere that a teenager's brain changes so rapidly that certain parts of the brain (like the areas that assess danger) shut down for a while to allow other parts to grow, that it was a normal (though alarming) part of being a teenager.

And then this morning I saw a headline and felt my stomach turn as I read the details. This man had died being deported to Angola leaving a wife and five children aged sixteen to seven months. It was clear from the witness reports that he had been 'heavily restrained' on the plane and had lost consciousness and died. I turned on a news channel hoping to find out more but it wasn't mentioned. As the morning passed by I realised that it wasn't going to come up.

Almost every day I pass a road sign pointing the way to Yarls Wood IDC, and I wondered if he had been held there before being taken to the airport. IDC stands for Immigration Detention Centre, but its not spelt out. The acronym points to an ominous blind spot where immigration is concerned, in the media, in our lives. People are trying their best to find a safe place for themselves and their children and are ending up losing their lives. Down the road. In the depths of the Bedfordshire countryside.

Our brains have grown up. We've got no excuse.

Tuesday 12 October 2010

Late night architecture








Baby nephew born this evening at 10.15! Both doing well.
Keep thinking about the first sleepless nights with my three, and, being similarly wide awake, thought I'd post a long overdue homage to modernist architecture (yes, I do live in a thatched cottage - it all makes sense in my head).

Was reminded of our visit to the Villa Savoye in Poissy (just outside Paris), when watching the RIBA Stirling Prize
and Tom Dyckhoff's piece on the Culture Show Special on the different 'branches' of modernism, including something called 'contextual modernism' which, I think, sits alongside, or mixed in with, other styles.
I'd never thought that my liking for light flooded, clean lined architecture could ever meet up with our quirky and crooked homestead (or 'scruffy house' as my nephew describes it). Maybe 'contextual modernism' is worth investigating, maybe a bit of googling...

Now that does make me feel sleepy.

Saturday 9 October 2010

Yesterday evening


The petrol ran out with two tufts to go.
The red caught my eye. Tried a few times but couldn't get the focus. It was darker than I realised.
Came inside and looked at the clock. 6.25. Joe's not back.
Phone rings.
It's Joe, I think to myself, he wants a lift. He left it too late to cycle and needs a lift home.
"I'm really sorry mummy"
"Are you OK?"
"Yes, but I had an accident" His voice was shaking.
"I was coming down the hill and a van was reversing and I couldn't stop"
"OK, don't worry, where are you?"
"I'm in someone's house, I'm sorry mummy"
"It's alright Joe, I'm leaving now, I won't be long."
Driving along I started to feel shaky. Why so sorry, why someone's house, why not Matt's, why not Grandma's?
I pulled up outside the house, four shadowy figures, a policeman. I opened the door and the policeman came over, I couldn't get my 'lights left on' warning beep to stop. Stopped it. "It's Catherine?" he said.
I looked at Joe, I thought he was crying but it was too dark.
I looked at his bike. No brakes.

"Hills, bikes, legitimately reversing, stupid boy, no brakes, gave him a b******king, no lights, too dark, cycling over fields, likely story, happened to be passing, bent gate, damaged door, need to apologise to the gentleman" said the policeman.
"Yes, of course, I'm sorry, I will."

Took the addresses and numbers. Introduced to the man whose gate it was. Invited in. Telly turned off. Place in Kettering does gates.
His helmet saved him, someone said.
"Yes," I said, "he wears his helmet"

Then we went. Joe cried.
We had fish and chips.

And now for today.
A new baby arriving, fingers crossed.

And counting my blessings.
Now I'm crying.

Friday 8 October 2010


Forgot to mention the really important news in all of this. I lost my bet.

A Patchwork House


When we bought this house we knew that it would take a strange combination of drive and patience to live in it.

Being seven months pregnant was actually a very appropriate start to the journey; navigating between what was physically possible and what was physically necessary with a new baby round the corner. But we turned it OK.

Six months on, things have improved and worsened. A few heavy thunderstorms revealed a holier thatch than we thought, and the physical possibilities have changed (from bumps to backs). We had a spell when 'biting', 'chewing' and 'too much' (you get the picture) drifted into our conversations, and as J lay flat on the floor not even being able to get up the stairs, the fact that we couldn't decide whether to sand them or strip them seemed a tad laughable (no-one was laughing).

But chatting to our newly instructed thatcher (double-take) the other day, he told us how he would tackle the damaged plaster left by the leaks. It wasn't a case of removing everything and re-doing, he thought, but patching and lime washing to fill the cracks - not to worry. Mulling this over I realised that we didn't have to wait for the paint, which was waiting for the plaster, which was waiting for the thatch and I picked up a brush and painted the kitchen, and it looks much better (not great, but better).

So we're now in the process of back-proofing our home, (no more lifting baby seats, marathon strimming or rugby tackling nearly 14 yr old sons, and maybe more leaving the out of reach pears to the birds and finding a sit-on mower [or a couple of sheep]) but still making a small difference where we can. Changing things here and there, going steady and enjoying the process. Ignoring the 'critical path' that you would normally follow on a house-build and doing a bit of patchwork. Sounds good to me.

Thursday 7 October 2010