Contrasts — Frond & Feather

Here I am again, typing away at the computer in the (relative) peace of the spare bedroom. Except there’s no bed in it; just two desks and a chest of drawers filled with art supplies. I’m toying with the idea of bringing my etching press out of storage once school resumes but that may actually be a bit premature (I need to get inspired and motivated enough first, and get some sketches done).

Speaking of artwork, thank you for the suggestions about the Command hanging strips - I’d never heard of them before and will be buying some so we can hang some pictures up and fill the sad-looking bare walls!

We’ve had some good news. Since arriving in Yorkshire, Jay has been applying for jobs and had two interviews last week. He’s the only person I know who actually enjoys job interviews and that must have come across because he was offered both positions. He chose the one closer to home and it also pays more than the other; it pays more than his previous job too, which is great. The rent here is expensive but at least now we can get a mortgage arranged and start looking for a place to buy.

Properties in this area aren’t cheap. There are very few on the market at the moment, and you have people moving in from places like London and South Manchester who have sold houses and have a lot to spend. Hopefully we’re in a good position in that we have a decent-sized deposit and aren’t in a chain but I think we’re in for a bit of a rollercoaster ride!

So, why ‘Contrasts’?

Lots of reasons. Firstly, Hebden itself. The valley’s filled with mills and chimneys and the odd grotty bit here and there. All pushed up alongside so many houses; cute terraces, fancy apartments, big Georgian properties with beautiful proportions, covetable Victorian villas with ornate architectural details, solid little mill worker’s cottages… People clamour to live here despite the history of flooding (and it’s becoming a more frequent occurrence). Many of these terraces and cottages would once have been inhabited by large families squeezed into just a few rooms. People who worked hard for long hours and little money.

And now it’s a desirable place, with its cafes and independent shops. Hebden Bridge has a reputation for being a creative hotspot too, and it’s interesting to see the (mostly) middle class incomers and to observe them. You have the hipsters (checked shirts, sailor tattoos, sharp haircuts, a penchant for artisan coffee and craft beer). The affluent families with quietly expensive clothes and shoes and high end cars, who commute in and out to work in Leeds or Manchester. And then you have what people used to call back in the ‘90s ‘New Age’ types: highly eco conscious and, to varying extents, non-conformist. They dress in pretty much whatever they feel like, really. Labels are generally a no-no as consumerism is the antithesis of what they stand for. Their children have whimsical names and again, wear whatever they feel like wearing so you often see some very imaginative outfits in the park.

I think a lot of people come here because they know they won’t be judged, and because there’s a strong sense of community. The wealthier ones? Maybe they just like being close to the countryside whilst having foodie shops on their doorsteps.

And the rail links are a big pull.

We’ve had serious contrasts in terms of the weather, too. At the weekend it seemed spring really was here, once and for all. It was so warm and still, with that blueness in the air which you only get once winter finally beats a reluctant retreat. We drove up behind the house, climbing higher and higher into the hills, then left the car behind and walked. It was spectacular with far-ranging views off to the hazy distance. We sat and breathed in the fresh air, marvelling at the loveliness of this spot somewhere between Midgley and Pecketwell.

When we came home we sat outside. There are few things better than a cup of tea on a garden bench in the sunshine.

The next day a grey, icy cold mist had descended. Almost a week later and it’s still lingering.

Joe and I have been out exploring. I’ve never known anywhere with as many footpaths, be they long ones through fields and woods or little cut-throughs down perilously steep stone steps between old houses and tiny scraps of garden. I honestly don’t think we’ll ever manage to walk them all. But I’d like to.

On Monday we visited Joe’s new school. We had a tour of the building and met his new teacher and headteacher. Joe seemed happy enough and although he’ll miss being at home, he needs to be back in a routine and to be learning in a more structured way. And he needs to be interacting with other children.

And I need to be able to actually Get Things Done. Admin, stuff around the house. Earning an income. I’ve been thinking about doing something with my photographs, actually. Perhaps putting together an archive of my best ones and getting some high quality prints made. What I’d really like to do is create products with them: notebooks and sketchbooks amongst other things. But for that I need to do a bit of research, and where research is concerned a quiet house is better than a noisy one.

Although on Monday, Jay starts his new job, I’m dropping Joe off at school and then the plan is to open all the windows and have a good clean. I’m a bit of a neat freak and tend to think more clearly when everything’s in order.

So that’s the plan. That and just decompressing and recovering from this latest round of home schooling. There may be a celebratory coffee in peace then the music’s going on and the cloths and brushes are coming out.

Also: I’ve got an appointment for my Covid vaccination. Which makes me feel very old (I’m not) and paranoid that I’ve been classed as ‘vulnerable’ (again, nope). Realistically, they’re just cracking on with it and are probably ahead of schedule.

I’m not bothered by needles. I self inject with B12 (long story) every few months. Although getting blood taken is something else altogether, and I dread that.

What else?

Not much really. I’m looking forward to seeing my friends again. Mother’s Day is coming up and I’m going to visit my mum’s grave for the first time in over a year. I go because I like to take flowers and make sure it’s cared for, although my stepdad does that regularly. But it’s still very hard and I always end up in tears because the reality is, she’s gone. Seeing her name on the headstone with the date she ceased to be here any more - that never gets any easier.

So I take the flowers and read her epitaph with the quote from John Milton’s Il Penseroso:

‘And, as I wake, sweet music breathe

Above, about, or underneath’

And I get upset and don’t like to sit there contemplating things. So I say a few words to her then leave. I rarely take Joe along because I don’t want him seeing me sad.

It’s odd because all the cards and TV ads don’t really bother me, although I do sometimes wonder whether there should be a bit more consideration for those who no longer have a mum to buy things for or to visit or take out somewhere for a treat.

Changing the subject: I’ve been painting furniture. The (bottom half of) the dresser is now dark green. The top half is in the garage for now and will probably stay there until we move again. I quite like the dresser’s new incarnation as a sideboard because some of my houseplants now live on it.

I buy too many houseplants. Those and books are my biggest weaknesses and I make no apologies for that. Nor do I intend to stop buying them. Some books go to charity shops if I think I’ll only read them once. As for the plants, some fare better than others. I managed to kill two beauties last year, both expensive specimens I’d spent a hefty chunk of my birthday money on: a Sansevieria Superba (snake plant) and an Alocasia (elephant’s ear plant). I think I killed them with kindness, aka too much watering.

So that’s sort of natural selection. You can never have too many houseplants because some die. Unless you have a houseful of spider plants, I suppose.

I painted my bookcase the dark blue-black colour I was talking about; you can see a glimpse in the righthand picture below. On the left is a recent acquisition, my African Milk Tree plant. I hope it lives.

And the table has been sanded, courtesy of Jay spending many hours slaving away in the garage. It was originally white - I bought it that way maybe 15 years ago, when I was going through my shabby chic phase. The table and chairs were very expensive as I had them made to order in a furniture place near where I lived and you could choose the finish.

You definitely get what you pay for - I think they must have sprayed layer after hardwearing layer of white paint onto it, then finished it off with some kind of indestructible wax. But it’s now back to bare wood with a single coat of beeswax, and it looks lovely. I don’t mind the odd scratch and stain here and there - patina - but obviously I’m now after painting the legs dark.

I can’t stop painting stuff. I don’t know what that means. What does it mean?