Life, crafty stuff, long walks, thoughts, and little oddities.


Holidays and memories

When I was sixteen

We moved to a place

With views of mountains and fields

With estuary and sand dunes

Where you could paddle

Along the narrow inlets

At low tide

And watch the fish dart ahead

Flashes of silver in the sunlight

And feel the flicker of flatfish

Disturbed by your passage

As they skimmed the surface

of the sand

It was not always a safe place

For the tide could turn and rush in

Leaving you in a mad scramble

Towards the shore


But not for anything

Would I have missed

The touch of the fish

As they tickled my feet


A week spent away in Benderloch, just north of Oban. No email, no internet. Just the sea, the mountains, and the green… bringing back memories of my time near Porthmadog. I was up in Benderloch for Woolfeis, the gaelic wool festival. Great fun, of which more later.


After the sun…

An incy wincy spider day. Sun, rain, sun, rain. The drumming on the roof accompanies the click of my knitting needles. Raindrops trace their way down the windows. Trickle of water down the drainspout. Then out comes the sun, to dry up all the rain. Spying a brief window in the weather, I don waterproofs and head outside. The water is winning, puddles filling. streams bubbling their way down the road. The mountains are shrouded in mist, only the closest visible. I squelch my way along the path by the lake, pools welling up in my footprints. The first spots of the oncoming shower land on my raincoat, and I head back. Time for me, like the spider, to dry out.


P1090095(1)For those who don’t know, Incy Wincy Spider is a children’s nursery rhyme. You can find the words here



Aeroplanes and angels


The Great Orme lies basking in the sunshine today. Blue skies reach far into the heavens. We sit overlooking the bay, perched on a convenient rock. A perfect vantage point for the airshow. The lifeboat chugs out into the sea below. A dull throbbing gets louder and louder until, round the Orme’s head, the rescue helicopter appears. Circling,  retrieving, lowering, circling again. Under the hovering vanes, the water ripples outwards, driven by the downdraft. Practice. Perfect. A break now. We lean back against sun-warmed stones, feel the heat on our faces, munch on the sandwiches, and switch off. A Spitfire and Hurrricane perform acrobatics above, dizzying loops, spins and flips. Then the finale. Out they jump, in strict formation. Canopies open, red, white, blue, against the sky. Spiraling down and round, patterns in the air. Perfectly  timed, they come to land on the beach. A round of applause. Then homeward bound. An evening spent on the patio. Laughter. Joy. Memories. Photos. An angel appears – can you see it?


NB: A wonderful day watching the air display, the highlight of which was the display by the Falcons, the RAF parachute display team


Rainbow bolts

Driven along ribbons of grey, slate roofs of houses flashing by. Spring green paints the fields, sunshine yellow in full bloom by the roadside. In the distance, between the layered hills, cerulean sky is reflected in sea. Here by the coast lies the rainbow land. Bolts of brightness in serried ranks, waiting to be caressed by tired winter eyes. Glowing satins and silks, matt cottons and linen. I drink in the feast of colour, and plot and plan, and dream.


Back in Wales for a week or so… this was taken at a wonderful fabric shop called Abakhan, at it’s North Wales branch.


Changeable weather

The weather here is much more volatile than up on the south-west coast of Scotland. In the last week the temperature has plunged below zero several time. We’ve had high winds, freezing fog, rain, mist and sun. The washing has frozen on the line, and almost been blown across the valley. The mountains have been covered with snow one day, and the next has been bright sunshine.  The dog and I have basked in the spring temperatures of 11 or 12. In the south facing sun-lounge in this house, the temperature has reached a hot 24 degrees occasionally. The plants don’t seem entirely sure what to do – open out or retreat back into the soil. Today seems to have settled on spring again. Down in the park, the catkins are dangling, looking like miniature caterpillars. And in the garden, the daffodils have emerged with trumpets blazing, just in time for St David’s Day.


Dydd Gwyl Dewi Hapus! Happy St David’s Day! Off on my travels again tomorrow, leaving the dog behind in the care of one of other ‘aunts’ to await her owners return on Monday. I’m going to miss having the dog to look after. I’m heading to the south of England to help a friend clear out her mother’s house. Her mum has just died at the age of 100. A fair age, and a death more of a release than a sorrow. But with the traveling and the sorting, it may be a week or so before I blog again… or it might be tomorrow!


Winter returns

The stream has overflowed on to the road. Frozen water coats the surface. Gingerly I cross, digging each step into the iron hard ground. Heavy clouds hover over the valley, silver light reflecting from the estuary. The first flakes of snow spiral down, dancing around me as I walk. Despite hat and gloves, the wind nips at my nose, and toes and fingers start to freeze. I turn for home, hoping to arrive before the storm begins in earnest.


conwy winter


Sun-warmed rock and snow-dust

The grey slab rears up on top of the mountain, a landmark to focus on. Slowly I pant my way to the top of the track. The dog runs ahead – and back – and ahead again. At last I reach the summit. Relaxing, I rest my back on the sun-warmed stone. Face turned to the winter sunlight. From here Eryri is seen in all its beauty, snow-dusted peaks glowing. Behind me the sea is blue under clear skies. The Great Orme stretches out lazily in all its glory. Dog growing impatient, I shoulder my rucksack and move onwards, savouring the view.


NB: Eryri is the Welsh name for Snowdonia.