Snobbery among the petunias

Alan Titchmarsh's comments in today's Telegraph reminded me how much snobbery there is in gardening.

It's not just which plants and styles of gardening are in or out, or whether you are a garden designer or garden creator or just a plain old gardener.


There's a big branch of snobbery among those who trained as horticulturalists, who paid their dues planting matchy-matchy petunias in municipal flower beds and learning the Latin names for everything.

As Titchmarsh said today, somewhat disingenuously, he was not going to hold his successor Monty Don’s “lack of training” against him. Monty Don, you see, may have written 20 books about gardening, and fronted gardening programmes for years, but to Titchmarsh and others who trained at Wisley, he's a presenter and not a gardener.

I could level the reverse accusation at Titchmarsh - he should stick at gardening and not presenting. I can't bear the programmes where he attempts to be a chat show host. 


Titchmarsh's peevish comments follow his demotion by the BBC for Chelsea Flower Show coverage. He was apparently asked to play second fiddle to Monty Don and declined. He was "hurt" by the decision. I'm not sure why. He stood down from the BBC's flagship gardening show Gardeners' World a few years ago and now presents the deplorable "Love Your Garden" on ITV. So why does he believe he should still be the BBC's top choice for Chelsea? He can't have everything.

This year, Titchmarsh has a show garden at Chelsea, his first since 1985. I'm not sure if his decision to have a show garden followed his "axing" by the BBC, but at least it allows him to show off his gardening expertise which Love Your Garden doesn't. And how heartening (I'm being ironic) that he will even allow himself to be interviewed by the BBC this year because "there is no point" in holding on to professional jealousy.

Really, all this gardening snobbery is so parochial and demeaning. The great thing about gardening is that it is highly personal and shouldn't be subjected to the dictats of a few pompous people who think they have a monopoly on taste, style and Latin.  Personally, I'm fed up with prairie planting and the same old "trendy" plants - alliums, agapanthus,irises, cornus and anything that looks like cow parsley. I'd like to see a garden designer at Chelsea brave enough to use unfashionable plants - chrysanths, marigolds, dianthus to name three - and to create the delicate, traditional English cottage garden that seems to be banned from the likes of Chelsea yet is the backbone of Britain's gardens.

The spring garden

As the tulips and narcissus bow to a close, the garden is looking busier than usual at this time of the year and it's all down to my new policy of not digging out the border for winter.

Inspired by some of the gardening writers, who said leave the perennials and enjoy their wintry shapes, plus, do not dig the soil, I left everything untouched. There were a couple of surprises. Two trailing fuchsias, bought last summer and supposedly tender, survived.  The winter casulties included my most prolific duo, a salvia and and a perennial nemesia. I got rid of two phygelius because they had started to become thugs.
 
The daffodils were stunning this year, particularly "Dick Walden," and the delicate pheasant eye narcissus.

But the tulips didn't float my boat. I'd ordered two red types and the plan was to put them in the border at the front of the house, fringed with muscari and forget-me-nots I'd grown from seed. But when I started planting them, I realised I didn't have enough red bulbs for the space, so I changed plans and put them in the back garden instead. The orange and purple bulbs originally destined for the back went in the front border, and somehow didn't work very well because I'd also had some "free" purple bulbs and a few white ones which were different heights and colours, and it looked messy.

I've decided to treat my tulips as annuals and have a new display every year, which gives me the flexibility of using the containers for more plants during the summer.

Meanwhile, in the back garden, I've put in some new plants - monarda, which can tolerate most conditions, and nerines for a late summer display. I'm hoping that gladioli will be the new showstopper, having decided that dahlias and my garden don't really get on.

The two clematis Montana have been outstanding so I added a third, and I think this may be the year that honeysuckle Serota finally delivers on flowers. I've planted "Rambling Rector" to scramble up the obelisk and was pleasantly surprised to find the perennial sweetpeas all reviving to do the same.

Dicentra "bleeding heart" really went for it this year

The main colour theme is pink and purple with a few white highlights

The hawthorn is also in full flush. It always reminds me of David Hockney, whose exhibition we saw a couple of years ago. It featured lots of paintings of hawthorn, like big curly caterpillars, and apparently he adores it, waits for the flowering and then rushes out into the countryside with his easel.

Don't let the militant atheists take over

My blog is usually a place of insignificant ramblings about....er...rambling, gardening, cycling and the like. But one issue of recent days has stirred me into tackling a controversial subject.

I was pleased to see the religious leaders of the Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus in the UK defending David Cameron's statement that the UK is a Christian country (or group of countries for the pedantic). This came after a bunch of militant atheists decided to spout off in the Telegraph about undermining the rights of others, blah blah blah.

Enough of these politically incorrect buffoons, imposing their secular views on the nation.

The balance provided by religion is essential, in my view, to protect moral standards and ethics. I don't think anyone would disagree that the UK has become a more selfish, self absorbed and uncaring community in recent years. The decline in religious teaching at schools, the way it's become trendy to deride Christians (while enjoying their religious holidays, of course!) and the ways Christians are undermined, has led to a steep decline in moral standards.

Christians have been persecuted for wearing a tiny symbol of the faith, a cross on a chain, by the likes of British Airways. Christmas displays have been banned by over zealous councils and the Red Cross for fear of upsetting other religions.

And every time the other religions rally to say they are not offended. Hooray for common sense.

My rallying cry is for the militant atheists to back down. They are not the majority, despite dwindling church attendances. What we do need is for the The Church of England to put its house in order. Look at the resurgence of the Catholic Church, due entirely to the charisma and goodness of Pope Francis. He eschews all the trappings and engages with ordinary people.

The C of E leaders have largely been intellectuals, occasionally bearded and totally removed from the man in the street. Taking up battles like food banks is not the way to fill the pews. Changes in the tax-free status of the church would show it is putting its money where its mouth is. And the reactionary types in the Synod need to take a reality check. Do they really want to turn the UK into a truly secular state, because they are too blinkered to embrace change?

A cycling mini break in border country

Henry Eckford

We've just returned from a three day cycling break in Shropshire, on the border with North Wales. The weather was fantastic for two of the three days. The highlight was a 25 cycle from our base in Wem (famous for the Eckford sweetpea) to Ellesmere. This ride included miles of gentle, quiet country lanes, a canal bristling with narrowboats and, of course, a damn good lunch courtesy of the Red Lion in Ellesmere.

The third day saw us cycling from Wem to Hodnet, unfortunately getting there too early for lunch and on the wrong day for the Hodnet Hall Gardens. It got progressively colder as we came back.

The distances were all in a day's work for John, who had not only just run the London Marathon (see previous post) but is well used to cycling, occasionally cycling to work (10 miles) and taking part in events like the London to Paris bike ride. But for me it was quite tough. My thighs have still not recovered from the uphill sections on the last day!

We stayed in the Old Rectory Hotel. Highly recommended, as is Byways Breaks who organised the holiday.

John's Marathon Battle

My husband John ran his 25th marathon last week in London. It was his toughest one to date, not because of the hot weather, which never helps, but because he's been battling injury for over a year.

He damaged his Achilles tendon and running even short distances became impossible. He started a rigorous regime of physiotherapy and would occasionally set off for a run, confident the problem was fixed, but would limp home not long after leaving.

It was with baited breath that he began his winter training for the 2014 London Marathon with a group of friends from the Orion Harriers.

Fortunately all went well and John sailed through the marathon last Sunday, using his new GoPro camera to film an up close and personal account of the event, which you can view here:

If the plug in doesn't work, here's the link: youtu.be/2iTcywx2T9s 

I was a spectator on the course, lucky to get a great vantage point at one of the elite runners' drinks stations manned by the Orions. One of the drinks belonged to a VIP:

Matthew I'm Sorry!

I'm feeling guilty about a tweet.

I once tweeted that Matthew McConaughey ruined every film he was in.

At the time, I was probably watching Fool's Gold or Failure to Launch. His rom coms had become increasingly dire. Both films have very telling titles.

But, all credit to Mr McConaughey: he started choosing to appear in films that challenged him, where he didn't play on his good looks, and by Jove, the dude showed us he could act.

I'm talking about The Lincoln Lawyer, Mud, Magic Mike and Dallas Buyer's Club, where his portrayal of a man with AIDS won him an Oscar this week. He lost 3 stone for the role and gossip magazines were panicking about Matthew losing his looks.

Here's to many more years of success for the actor.
Wouldn't it be great to see Jennifer Aniston do the same?

Lies and Collusion on the Dangers of Sugar

Finally the World Health Organisation admits there is a crisis with sugar and sugar is fuelling the obesity epidemic.

Now health bodies and governments are furiously back peddling after promoting low fat, low carb diets, low salt diets for years whilst turning a blind eye to sugar and the way it was creeping into "low fat" food and drinks in order to make up the taste deficit.

Sugar is not always clearly marked on processed foods and it's found in huge quantities in surprisingly "healthy" places.  Smoothies;  fruit juice;  cereals;  soups.

I find it hard to believe that nutritionists and scientists have only just arrived at this eureka moment.

It doesn't seem like rocket science to me to have in-depth tests comparing diets and results on metabolism and body composition.

But what's been happening is that successive governments have colluded with food manufacturers, and most of our most eminent scientists are actually "sponsored" by the very companies they should be castigating.

Who actually pays for the research? Not the likes of Tate & Lyle or Kelloggs or Coca Cola, because they would lose out.

I can't imagine the current government will make any changes because it will make them too unpopular with the food and drink manufacturers. The good health of the nation is clearly a low priority for this government, having repeatedly wasted opportunities to force the retailers to put up the price of alcohol, sold more cheaply than bottled water, and to follow other countries in the justified demonization of tobacco. My father died horribly of a smoking related disease, so I have no patience with those who drone on about freedom and liberty.

It will take years for the low sugar message to hit home and in the meantime more and more obese people are sucking the NHS dry. Sugar is believed to be as addictive as cocaine, so there seems to be some merit in the argument that they can't help it. But I can't be the only person who thinks it's so sad that today's children will die before their parents.

The political party which dares to make significant changes will win my vote in the next General Election. And we should all put pressure on the parties to make this a key part of their manifesto.

Further reading: today's Daily Mail (7 March): leading cardiologist Dr Aseem Malhotra confirms that the UK govt is in cohoots with food industry and has had many meetings with the likes of Nando's,  Pepsi, Mars and Tesco.

The drama of cakes!

Who would have thought that a gentle little TV programme about baking would have become such a hot-house of gossip, speculation and vitriol?

I'm talking of course about The Great British Bake Off, the final of which is next Tuesday.

Before this series started judge Paul Hollywood had scandalised Twitter by apparently having a romance with his co-host of the US version, a Mexican named Marcela Valladolid.

Hollywood's wife added to the low simmer of angst by giving tearful interviews where she claimed it had all come out of the blue, etc etc, and then sued him for divorce citing adultery.

The series started and, phew, it was still the same. Mary Berry was still rocking colourful jackets;  Sue and Mel were still like a couple of mates from the pub, and Hollywood was still flashing his blue eyes and going on about soggy bottoms.

But the contestants were different this year. Either that or the way they filmed them was different.  I noticed a lot more competition between them;  when one was being judged favourably, another would purse her lips.

Even worse, the front runners were very arrogant about their ability quite early on in the series. Whenever Jennifer, Kimberley or Beca were given any sort of criticism they would put on a questioning "really?" look.

Jen would say nearly every time that she "made it at home several times and it was perfect" so she didn't understand why it had gone wrong.

Then there was the Ruby factor.  Ruby Tandoh is a 21 year old student who tells us she only started baking six months ago. That might explain why she is forever decrying her bakes and telling the judges what's wrong with them before they start tasting. This week she added an overlay of tears.  Psychologically, it makes it very difficult for the judges to be tough on her. Especially as Hollywood is supposedly smitten by her.

I'm not sure I've seen that. They flirt a little, but I suspect it's his reputation going before him.  Ruby acts like millions of attractive young women have acted for centuries. She's coy; she cries; she giggles. She simpers. If he falls for that, well, we all know there's no fool like an old fool.

Apparently Hollywood gave an interview to the Times yesterday and he's still proclaiming his innocence over the adultery and divorce business. He hints darkly there is more to it than people know.  Perhaps he and his wife weren't sleeping together. Frankly, do we even care?

He was pretty unchivalrous about Valladolid, suggesting she was wrong for the US version. Let's hope she doesn't retaliate.

The show moves to BBC1 next year and I hope it stays exactly the same.

Meanwhile for Tuesday's final I would love to see wacky Frances win. I love her creativity, and I liked  the way she snapped back at Beca "who wants to be boring?" when Beca said that Frances was on some planet all of her own. It is perhaps telling though that on the BBC GBBO website, the photo of Frances is smaller than the others.

Kimberley is far too smug and Ruby, well, it's too soon. She may be prodigiously talented but I fear it would do her no good at all to win at such a young age and be thrust into the spotlight of cookery books and TV appearances.

Who are you tipping to win?

"Unexpected item in the bagging area"

Self service checkouts were in the news today. Apparently the retailers are introducing more of them because they reduce their costs. But consumers are less keen.

I didn't like the way that the reports implied that consumers have problems using the check outs, and are entirely responsible for delays.

I nearly always use the self service check outs, except if I have a lot of shopping.  I like to save time. I'm pretty fast at scanning the items and looking up prices for loose vegetables or fruit.

But let's go through one of my recent transactions, in Sainsbury's.

First.  "We need to verify your bags."  I always take my own bags, but with a self service checkout, this is actually a bad thing. Why the bags need to be verified I do not know, because if you're paying at a normal check out, someone doesn't peer into your bag to see if you have stolen something. Anyway, have to wait for the assistant.

Second.  The type of baked good I had selected was a loose item, with no bar code, and wasn't listed on the look up guide.  You either have to take the risk of selecting something similar, or wait for the assistant.

Third. A bottle of wine. Have to wait for the assistant.

Four. I'd picked up one of those multi-pack magazine offers. It was obviously heavier than the machinery was expecting because it became an "Unexpected Item in the Bagging Area" and, yes, I had to wait for the assistant.

Finally, I had a Brand Match coupon for six pounds. The check out refused to take it. The assistant explained they have to code them through if they are over a certain amount.

By now I had given up the will to live. I'm not surprised that one in three of us walks out of a store, abandoning their purchases, because of a bad experience.

As you can see, none of these problems were "my" fault.  I suggest to the retailers that if they intend to bulldoze these systems into the stores, they need to improve the technology.  Cameras and recognition systems and more real-time updating of stock.

Strictly Come Dancing 2013: The Lowdown

A couple of people asked me recently why I haven't been blogging.

I was thrilled, thinking only robots read my posts.

The robots give me hilarious comments full of mispellings saying things like "you such great writer I love your posts please check my blog XXXX."

Anyway, the reason for no blogging is that I felt I'd said it all.  The blog was becoming like a cyberspace Groundhog Day.

But, pressed into giving my thoughts on such heavyweight topics as this year's Strictly Come Dancing line-up, I decided to return to the fray.

Note new blog photo showing us at the summit of Skiddaw, England's third highest mountain, on our holiday in the Lake District.

Let's have a quick fox trot through the contestants:

The Boys
Are a bit of a boring lot this year and I am not expecting great things from any of them, except maybe Whats-his-name from Hollyoaks. The Hairy Biker Dave is admirably channelling the God of Dance John Sergeant, but I feel he is capable of much more than just stomping around.

The rugby player Ben Cohen is like one of those big American fridges being moved around the floor on castors. He has already done a ballet class and I predict he will soon be getting acting lessons.

The one from Casualty, Patrick Robinson,  is a smooth number aged 50. Could potentially do well, but I'm not sure he's trying very hard. Incidentally, his character in Casualty was the reason my mum stopped watching it. She found it too ludicrous that he was a nurse, left the series and came back as a doctor.

Mark Benton is this year's Lisa Riley: big chap who wants to prove he's nimble on the dancefloor.  Doing OK, but looks horribly scruffy during rehearsals. One wants to reach for the Lynx.

Julien Macdonald, fashion designer, blotted his copybook by either being stoned or drunk in the opening night and screeching unpredictably in a way that bothered Bruce. I remember Macdonald when he first appeared on Britain's Next Top Model as a judge. He's had an Elle McPherson directed makeover. He used to be fat with long lank hair. Now he's a preening peacock with a forehead smoother than a baby's. I predict he'll be in the dance-off again this weekend.

The Girls  (said in Hattie Jacques' voice from Carry on Camping)

I'm predicting a 3 way final between Abbey Clancy, Sophie Ellis-Bextor and Natalie Gumede.

Sophie did the most fab - u - lous Charleston.  I reckon she'll do it again in the final and get top marks all round. Clancy is the pouting, hair tossing wife of footballing legend (not John's view|) Peter Crouch.  She's very good, but I wonder if she has vote appeal. Too much posturing. That toned midriff is a mixed blessing for the voting demographic.

Vanessa Feltz is a wiley old so-and-so. She suffers from misconceptions. People tend to think of her as loud, shouty and bossy. When I knew she was taking over the Radio 2 early show I groaned, thinking it would be too noisy. But she is a revelation. She listens intently to the people who call in and her use of English is sublime. Even her "potted history of the show thus far" is a daily mini masterpiece.

In a masterstroke, Feltz was seen blubbing over James Jordan in their lovely waltz, admitting the dance made her remember old love affairs. Transformed into someone vulnerable she sailed through, and if she keeps it up, may stay in for a while.

Fiona Fullerton, always plugged as "former Bond girl" is the oldest lady in the show at 56, and looks great. She's also a talented dancer so for once Anton isn't the comedy turn. She could do very well because Anton has his own fan base of elderly ladies.

Natalie Gumede is this year's Coronation Street entry and she seems a bit bland to me, but a good dancer from the stage school trained intake.

Dragon's Den star Deborah Meaden is radically remodelling herself and coming across very well. The miracles performed on her and Feltz by the wardrobe department with Spanx and Lycra are amazing.

Newsreader Susanna Reid is coming across as a bit frantic, desperate to impress and too orange. Her hair is too dark and she spends too much time in the tanning booth.

Finally Rachel Riley from Countdown doesn't seem to be trying very hard, and that's something we can't forgive.

Finally a word on the Bruce situation. Agree with the majority on Twitter who said last week's show was better without him. It had a new energy with Tess and Claudia presiding. There was no sense of dread. "Will Bruce forget his lines?"  "Will he look startled as usual when the camera finds him after Tess?"  "Will he forget the names of the dancers and judges?"  I just hope that when he does retire, the BBC will not decide to get in another man just for the sake of it, but will stick with the winning formula of Tess and Claudia.

That's my round up - what do you think? Who's your favourite so far? Mine are Sophie and Fiona.

A Happy Event for the Pigeons?

I am hoping that our lovely wood pigeons are expecting, or have had, a happy event.

Just to recap on "the pidgies," this plumptious pair have been living in the trees beyond our garden for the last few years. I first spotted them about three years ago when we got rid of the Leylandii trees. We had unwittingly destroyed their home. They spent that winter roosting miserably on the fence. 

Over the last year I've become very fond of The Pidgies and feed them every day. I have to be careful that no cats are around and John is very insistent that I only give them seeds on the patio and not the artificial grass.  I love the way they run across the garden as fast as their little legs will carry them when they see me with the seeds.

Pigeons mate for life, like swans.  They seem very fond of each other.  Before my suspicions of the happy event, they would arrive on the fence every evening and groom and kiss each other.

I can tell them apart because the female has a limp.  I call her "Limp Pigeon."

About three weeks ago I realised that they weren't flying together. They would visit the garden on their own, for a brief period of time.  And I had seen them both with twigs in their beaks.

My imagination has had them building their ramshackle nest and they're now incubating one or two eggs.

Grooming the plumage 

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The incubation period is 17 days and the youngsters fledge between 29 and 35 days.

A couple of years ago the pidgies were visiting with a scruffy looking youngster.  I'm hoping to get some photos this time round.

I'm surprised that programmes like Springwatch never feature wood pigeons. I know they're perceived as pest by farmers, but they have an interesting story and endearing ways.

Here are some photos of the plumptious pair.

Kiss Kiss

Parcels rainin' down

There will be a few deliveries today. My heart sinks. I work mainly from home, so we both make full use of t'internet to order anything we may  or may not need.

First I have to make sure I am showered and dressed by 8am. There's nothing worse than the door bell ringing when you're not decent.

I try to avoid sorties into the garden lest I don't hear their feeble knocking on the door. 

There is a bell, but it seems too much trouble to press it.

I pointed out the bell to a regular delivery man, who said belligerently "it doesn't work."  I gently pressed it; the bell screeched, and he just shrugged.

I suspect they are paid by how many deliveries they attempt, not how many are actually made.  Many's the time I have rushed downstairs from the office to answer the door to find the delivery man already backing off down the drive without having waited.

The no-shows, when you have specifically requested delivery on a particular day, are particularly galling. You stay in all day, even though you're champing at the bit to get to the post office or buy some bread for lunch. With the risk of an evening delivery you now have to stay in all evening too. And then they don't show up!

Sometimes the attempts to deliver are just as bad. One regular driver had the habit of throwing our parcels over the back fence, until I found a sodden package containing a dress that was now ruined because we had been away for a few days.

Last week a skirt was somehow squashed and forced through the letter box. The skirt was fine, but had I wanted to return it, the returns note would have needed ironing.

For the purposes of today's expected deliveries I may put a large sign on the door pointing to the bell and asking them to press it - hard.

Plum glut

I am overjoyed. The two year old plum tree has delivered! I have a huge glut of plums. I collected two bowlfuls last week and stewed some;  I have been eating them with Greek yoghurt and a little honey. Very tasty! They are also fine eaten as dessert plums, although J is a little suspicious.

The cherry tree will never deliver cherries unless I get another tree but it looks pretty enough with its blossom in the spring.

The garden in July

I'm horrified to see that my last post was as long ago as May, and then it was "The garden in May." Now I am back with "The garden in July."

I am very pleased with it this year; the raised bed border has certainly bushed out. No gaps now!

New this year were sweet peas, scrambling up an obelisk;  (still to flower); a jasmine; two more salvias to attract bees, and various additions including dianthus Doris, fuchsia Display, dahlias, love-in-the-mist and amberboa Sweet Sultan.

The raised bed border is mostly pink and mauve with touches of white.

Meanwhile my hot border, on the other side of the garden, has been a bit of a let down so far. I have fewer nasturtiums and cosmos Bright Lights died. Three salvia Hot Lips have gone completely crazy though.

The garden in May

After a late Spring everything is catching up. I normally have a few roses out by St George's Day  (April 23) but still none in bloom yet.

The tulips have now been dead headed and the plants in the border are filling out nicely. 

The new clematis montana Superbra with large pink flowers is draped like a garland over the fence.  You either love or hate those rampant Montanas: I love them.

To the right is the new addition of an obelisk which has perennial sweetpeas planted at the bottom. There's a new cordyline "Pink Passion" to add some structural wow.

I have sown some hardy seeds including nigella and larkspur, and Sarah Raven's Sweet Sultan mix which will hopefully give me some tall pom pom plants adored by bees.

Some stalwarts from last year are also looking good: lupins, dianthus, hosta "White Feather", hebe "White Paradise" and phlox paniculata.

I took a risk with some dahlia tubers. I planted them in containers at the front, which is south facing. As yet, no sign of them, although tubers planted in a container at the back have delivered small plants. I love dahlias but haven't had good results so far. Last year they seemed to come under airborne attack and all the leaves were scissored.

The other thing that looks great at the moment is the hawthorn tree. It's so gratifying to hear the bees buzzing in it. The gnarled old apple tree also excelled with blossom this year.

Tiptoe through the Bluebells

Last year we didn't go to bluebell wood.  I felt it was getting too much like Groundhog Day. The previous year, we were too late and the bluebells had gone over.
Well, this week we visited the wood during a cycle ride, and we were at exactly the right time. The sweet smell was overwhelming as we approached.
Our clothes make it a little less like GH I suppose ---- I didn't use to be seen very often in cycling garb!

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The Garden in Spring

Finally! Spring has arrived and the bulbs are bursting into life, a vivid crescendo of colour.

I'm always slightly surprised by the different colours of my tulips, even though I buy new ones in a set colour scheme every year. Old ones linger  (I plant them in the border) and so there is every colour imaginable, but somehow for spring this is right.

This year I planted muscari and snake's head fritillary for the first time. Very pleased with both. "Must get more" is the memo to self.

The front border is heavy with the scent of hyacinths, blue, cream and white. There seem to be a lot more than I originally planted so they must be naturalising. How generous is nature's bounty!

 

 

Tortured by crewel past

Here's one I made earlier 

I thoroughly enjoyed the first episode last night of "The Great British Sewing Bee," even though I ran the risk of being traumatised by watching it. 

The reminders of "bias binding" and "A line skirt" took me back to school and never-forgotten humiliations.

Mum and I cannot sew. For us, velcro is a godsend, as is the dry cleaner's that hems trousers.

My humiliations started aged around nine.

The girls had been given a piece of "Binker", that holey cream stuff that you embroider. Mrs Thompson, the spiteful teacher, held mine up in front of the class saying "The boys could have done better."

It got worse at the big school. We were expected to run up little aprons during the summer holidays edged with bias binding in the colour of our school house.

Bias Binding

Armed with the Crewels and Sharps which had been on the domestic science shopping list, I attempted this. But in the end my friend Shonagh had to step in and finish the job. There was a big difference between her stitches and mine.

Double domestic science lessons were an utter nightmare. Our school had lavishly equipped "labs" and cookery with Mrs Johnson was fine. However, sewing with Miss Coleman was not.

After I repeatedly failed to thread the needle of the darned Husqvarna sewing machine, she told the class I must have a turnip on my shoulders instead of a head with a brain.

Another time, I was summoned to see her during a break to show her the A line skirt I had been struggling with for over a year.   She made me model it, whereupon the sixth form girls who were there for the next lesson all started sniggering.

Reader, I never wore that skirt.

Cow Handling a Musket

It was perhaps even worse for my mum because her mother was an expert needlewoman and made her wedding dress, having to go "off pattern" because the Elizabethan style stand-up collar wasn't standing up.

Mum hated it when she was expected to produce a fancy dress outfit. I was bemused to be sent to a party as a "flower girl" wearing a normal dress and a headdress with a few flowers stuck on with glue. Daleks and Oliver Twists kept asking me what I was.

The instruction to make a PE bag resulted in a pillowcase that had an elastic drawstring at the top.  When the plimsolls were inserted, the bag gently stretched from the peg to rest on the floor.

At least mum was good at knitting. I was memorably described as "a cow handling a musket" by Grandma when I tried to take up the hobby.

I have nothing but admiration for people who can take those utterly incomprehensible patterns and turn them into something fantastic. It would be terrific to make my own clothes.

But it's never going to happen, and the nearest I get to needles nowadays is creating the birthday card above.

Beckhams: Get Over Yourselves!

We hear that the fine monument to modern taste, Beckingham Palace, occasional home of David and Victoria Beckham, is up for sale. But not for sale to just anybody. They don't want to sell to a developer  (even though they bought the mansion, real name Rowneybury House, from a developer. It had previously been a council children's home).

They want to sell it to a family who will "continue what we started."

I would imagine that any family with enough money to move into Beckingham Palace will probably want to impose their own taste on the gaff. They may well gut it and install subterranean underground basements (seems all the rage among the Saatchi / Lawson set in London).

I doubt if they will leave it as it is, a gleaming paean to the taste of former Leyton boy David and his wife, the former Spice Girl - one of our tackiest pop bands.

Perhaps there is a subliminal message as well that they don't have to rush into a quick sale. They can take their time to find the "right" buyer.

Really, the phrase that came to mind when I read about their plans was "Get over yourselves!"

Easter

The one picture I took!

I hope you're all enjoying the Easter break. Shame about the horrendously cold weather which has no doubt put paid to a lot of plans for cycle rides, trips, gardening.

I did something different yesterday - I went to St Paul's Cathedral. I've never actually been inside the building. So at 9.40 I found myself among an excited throng of tourists, clamouring to be admitted for the 10.15 service.

I am a great admirer of ecclesiastical architecture.  Cathedrals in particular. St Paul's is amazing. Awe inspiring. So beautiful.  Add the soaring voices of the choir and the dignity and spectacle of the service, and you start to feel sorry for aetheists and their somewhat holier than thou  (ironically) attitudes, which have been all too prevalent on Twitter lately.

It would be a great pity in my eyes if we did become entirely secular in the UK.  Christians are already becoming marginalised thanks to some of the bonkers councils and organisations like the Red Cross, who think that usig "Christmas" as a word offends other religions.  Complete rubbish, because in a highly tolerant place like the UK, we see nothing wrong in taking joy from each other's tradiditions.

The one great thing that ALL religions bring is the setting of standards. A framework for decent living. You may be a Buddhist or a Protestant but having beliefs means you aspire to being the best you can be. Loving your neighbour and so on. Seculurisation has cost us dearly in the last few decades. It's every man for himself. People just don't care about anyone but themselves.  We saw this just now when a car driver selfishly pulled out in front of the lovely little family on bikes.

Determined efforts are made to commercialise Easter but it remains a time for contemplation and new beginnings.