Note Number 11…Christmas Over, heading for NYE…

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Christmas is over, a good time was had by all…in our house anyway… now the countdown for New Year. We all ate too much of course, even though we tried very hard not to be unnecessarily indulgent. I scoffed a huge amount of cheese, thanks to the never-ending cheese board supplied by Joseph Hartley (son).  It lasted several days despite our efforts each time we sat at the table,  to finish the medley,  it appeared fully replenished again at the next sitting.

A million variety of mince pies were forced down my throat by those naughty Christmas goblins, and a copious amount of chocolate was stuffed into my ever open mouth by the wicked fairy.

So, four days of wallowing in unhealthy (but delicious) victuals and vino has left me feeling bloated and lazy.  But, probably, like a whole host of other people, I’m determined to carry on bingeing until midnight on the 31st December, at which point it will ALL stop. Yes it will…(no it won’t) Who said that? I know, it’s pantomime season but…

Yesterday, in the Independent newspaper I read an article about pomegranates, you can see it here for yourself.  So, The Man and I are going on a pomegranate hunt on the 1st January and will be eating them everyday.  We will also detox and cut out all alcohol, crisps, nibbles, chocolate etc., etc., except of course on Thursday evenings when we play cards, at which event we must have drinks and nibbles…

Oh dear…

We’ll see how it goes. I’ll keep you posted re the pomegranates.

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Hope your Christmas was good and Happy New Year readers. What are your plans for 31st December and beyond?

Note Number 10…London Visit…

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Trafalgar Square in the Misty Afternoon (sounds like a title for a story)

We’ve just got back from a quick visit to the big city, London. It was surprisingly quiet for the time of year. I actually hate crowded pavements when it’s difficult not to bump into another body, especially when they have their headphones on and their eyes glued to their smartphones…there were a few of those. We were also not squashed like sardines on the tube, but it was busy enough. I find as I get older I get paranoid about being on the underground, particularly when the train grinds to a halt between stations, I immediately think something awful is going to happen.  But, I was saved any of these anxieties so a pleasant few days were had.

We strolled around St James’s. Walked to the West End, had a meal at Joe Allen’s, took in a show, the Carol King musical, Beautiful. Which was amazing and a nostalgic journey for me back to the 60s.  In general we had a wonderful time and the icing on the cake was the arrival of my daughter and family on Sunday. We had a meal at the Windmill, Clapham Common, a busy pub with excellent food and situated right beside the common and a convenient playground.  The build up to Christmas has begun and even The Man enjoyed himself, no doubt because of the absence of any ‘Christmas Music’ a part of the season he just cannot abide.  I’m inclined to agree with him but, I do like to hear a few popular carols and songs around the 24th/25th December.  It’s when it all begins in September that bugs me.

I’ll leave you with a few photos.

I was excited to see some young ballerinas entering the Royal Ballet School, which is opposite the stage door to the Royal Opera House.  The Bridge across the road joins the two together so that dancers can get from one building to the other without going outside. I imagined they were taking part in the Saturday Matinee of The Nutcracker.  What lucky young dancers.

Covent Garden
BigBus London obvs..
Covent Garden old shop
A statue preparing for work

Various shots of Covent Garden….

Left: A photo for my bro’. Centre: St James’s Palace.  Right: The Lamb and Flag, one of London’s oldest pubs famous for the battering almost to death, (but not quite) of  playright, critic and poet, John Dryden in the alleyway outside.  Also visited by many other famouse authors, poets and artists including Dickens. 

The lights on Regents Street and New Bond Street – The Man thought the one on the right was a fish bone. I told him it was a peacock feather, but I could see where he was coming from. 

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Trafalgar Square Christmas Tree

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Canadian flag for our Canadian friends worldwide…

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And Finally, Walking to the pub on Clapham Common on Sunday Ahh….

Note Number 9…Thoughts on Christmas…

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Wreath Bought Today…money went to charity. Next year I’m going to make my own but still give some money to charity.

I’ve had good times I’ve had bad times…most of my friends, present and past, have had lives that follow a similar pattern.  But as you get older it becomes more evident that we humans are greedy things. We want our cake and eat it. We want too much in the way of material things and are never happy to be content to just have what we need. It’s nearing Christmas so I suppose that’s what’s making me feel this way. The constant flow of Christmas email offers coming into my inbox is frightening. The advertising in magazines, newspapers and on the television is bombastic. The pressure is on!   There are so many people in the world with absolutely nothing. No home, no family, no food, nothing – and no prospect of things getting any better for them. It makes me angry and sad…  and I know I’m a hypocrite, because I’m not going to give up everything I have and hand it all over to the needy.

In the past I have been without, literally, I have had nothing in my handbag or pocket and searched down the sides of the sofa (at least I had a sofa) for a few coins so that I could collect enough of them together for a meal.  I’ve also had times when the table has been overflowing with food and the cupboards are bursting.   I have worried about only having 50p in my purse and I have worried about having only £50 in my purse. It’s all relative. I have had my fair share of tragedy, losing my dad when I was only thirteen and then losing my lovely son when he was only twenty-seven. But, those events apart, I have been lucky in so many ways.  I am lucky right now…the weather has been pretty rubbish but who cares?  I am free, I’m not hungry and I’m comfortable. Most days I can please myself what I do. I have grown older and wiser.  I’m a bit overweight and should try to lose it – but why? I’m healthy and happy and until I can’t actually get my clothes done up, I’m going to try not to worry about a few pounds of excess body fat.

I could never be as good as those people, who give up their Christmas Day to feed the homeless and needy before they have anything for themselves. But, I fully intend this year to try to do something helpful each day of the holiday. On Facebook I saw an advent calendar and each day it had a good deed to do, which I think is a great idea – much better than eating chocolate!  Doing something kind or helpful does not mean that you have to deprive yourself of anything, it doesn’t even have to cost any money.  Just make sure your neighbour has everything they need…whatever their age. Visit the local home for senior people…(trying to be PC) and maybe take a bottle of sherry for them to have a glass on Christmas day.  I’m sure we can all think of something charitable to do? So far in December I haven’t done enough good deeds but I am trying, honestly.

I bought a wreath for the door today, it cost £10 and the money will go to charity. I’m not going to buy a load of Christmas decorations because it is a waste of money and we won’t be here for Christmas day but with family in Bristol (can’t wait).  How lucky am I to be sharing time with my children and grandchildren and of course The Man…he’s a bit of a bah-humbug.  I’m honestly not a Christmas grump but, I’m going try hard not to be too indulgent this year.

I’m not a religious person but appreciate the part of Christmas that brings people and families together. I do not appreciate the commercial side of Christmas at all and hope that you, readers, will take time out to think of those less fortunate than yourselves at this time of year and I will do the same.

 

 

Note Number 8… These Boots were Made for Walking but not in the rain…

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In October last year (2015) I bought a fab pair of Joules wellies in Mole Valley Farmers in South Molton. I loved them, all purple pink and flowery and they were fun to wear. Sadly, less than a year later they leaked, I couldn’t believe it and they’d hardly had any use.

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I’d even put plastic bags in the boots but, socks and feet still got wet. 

I tweeted to Mole Valley and to Joules and was impressed by the speed with which they replied and I was offered a full refund on said wellies and managed to replace them with another pair which were twice the price but did the job properly. The power of the Tweet eh?

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New wellies, boring colour but lined, practical and dry. Jpeg had to get a foot into the photo…typical! 

I don’t like walking the dog in wellies I prefer walking boots as it’s much easier to stride out around the countryside, but, of course one needs waterproof walking boots in this climate so I bought a pair of Hi-Tec Borah Peak Waterproof, Women’s Hiking Boots.

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The important word here is WATERPROOF… which they were for about three walks. I sprayed them with a waterproof spray but that didn’t work so I phoned Amazon and was told to send them back for a refund. Fortunately we’d kept the box. This was back in March 2016 and we were about to head off to Italy – where the sun shines most of the time incidentally – so I didn’t bother to replace them immediately.

Back in England at the beginning of November, having replaced the wellies,  it was time to also get sorted with new boots. I decided to go the whole hog and buy an expensive pair of Ecco boots, waterproofed with Hydromax© lovely but £160. They were really comfortable and I loved walking in them…but, you can guess what I’m going to say can’t you? I couldn’t believe it the first time when I took them off after a walk and my socks were wet. I decided I must have imagined it and that I had stood on the wet doormat in my socked feet after I’d taken the boots off. So the second time I made sure that I didn’t do anything like it that but…my socks and feet were WET!

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More leaking boots…*sigh*

Back to the shop I went and to the very helpful staf.  They thought the boots were faulty so took them back and said they would send for another pair. Needless to say, I had lost confidence and insisted they replaced them with a different pair of boots made from Gortex©…this they duly did (at the same price). Success!  I am now able to walk over the muddy wet fields and in the puddles along the road with my feet staying dry. How wonderful.

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Love my New Waterproof Boots with blue laces…

But, wet shoes were only a part of this November. After a weekend away we returned to a cottage with a completely flooded ground floor. Apparently the rain had come down persistently and then in bucket loads of biblical proportion, the road looking like a river, and being the first house after the corner and at the end of a slight downhill segement of road, the water had nowhere else to go but in through the side gate, filling up the garden like a lake and found its way into the cottage under the door…

Lefthand photo…carpet with muddy water partly sucked out…the dark bit was what the whole carpet looked like before any removal of water.  Righthand photo…rolled up carpet ready to be dragged out and thrown into the garden. (it was very heavy!)  It’s hard to see how wet it all was from these pictures. This was with about 2 inches of water, I cannot imagine what it must be like when houses are flooded half way up the walls…horrible.

Ah well, at least I could wear me wonderful wellies to paddle about in the house.

In case you’re worried, it’s all dry now and we await a new carpet which should be down by Christmas. Thank goodness for good neighbours who came to the rescue with hot meals and comforting words. The dog had to stay in the kennels for an extra night, but I don’t think she realised this…she doesn’t seem to know the days of the week very well.

So far in 2016 we’ve suffered from earthquakes in Italy and flooding in England…what next I wonder?

 

Note Number 7 Thoughts on War…

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I’ve seen the films, I’ve read the books
I’ve looked at photos by the score
But nothing can come close, to the reality of war

I’ve tried to think, I’ve tried to feel
I’ve searched but cannot see
It is impossible for me to comprehend the total misery

I’ve said a prayer. I’ve said I care
I’ve thought of all those lost
But in truth I cannot justify the reward against the cost

Ninette Hartley
13th November 2016

Field of poppies poppy flowers

Note Number 6…Movin’ and a Shakin’…

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Photo taken from http://earthsky.org

I’m not writing enough at the moment so I’m behind schedule with my 90 notes but I do have a couple of good excuses.  If you’ve seen the Italian news then you will know that last week we had a couple of earthquakes here in Le Marche, 5.5 and 6.1 on the Richter Scale according to some reports.  The first was around 7 in the evening and I was about to jump in the shower when the three-tier Ikea wooden shelf unit began to wobble, the windows shook and rattled and my legs felt the earth move.  It took a few seconds to register what was happening but then I grabbed a towel – to cover my nakedness – and ran down three flights of stairs to find The Man and others in the house on their feet and looking out of the front door and windows.  The Petritolese were out in the streets as quick as a flash. Apparently that’s the right thing to do – or get under a sturdy table.  The shaking passed and we exchanged expletives and other words of comfort before going back to what we were doing before the quake.  It was immediately reported on social media with wild guesses of where, what and when etc., The epicentre was around 40k distant from our town.  It was soon established that this time, unlike the recent earthquake in August, there was some property damage but no casualties. I sent a messages to our children to let them know we were okay and then we all decided to continue with our plans for the evening which was to dine out at the wonderful I Piceni restaurant in Ortezzano.

On the short drive to our dinner destination the rain was torrential, thunder and lightning shook the already nervous dispositions of our Southern Hemisphere visitors, ‘Jeez! What kind of  country are you living in here?’ (say that in an Aussie accent please). Once settled at our table and having acknowledged the recent seismic waves with other diners we tucked into our delicious food and wine and were beginning to completely relax when another quake took hold, this time bigger than the first – and whatsmore we were closer to the epicentre this time.  All the Italians rushed from their dinner tables, the chef came out of the kitchen, ‘Calma, calma, tutta posto…relax, everything will be okay…’ One British chap strolled quietly towards the exit, glass of red wine in his hand, totally unperturbed a true example of British reserve.  This time my legs felt very odd and at the end of the 110 second shake the room seemed to move in a circular motion, the ceiling lamps swaying like spinning plates.  After a while we all went back to our meals and carried on eating and apart from a slightly tense atmosphere we continued on as though this was an everyday occurence.  When home we hit the computers, iPads and mobile phone devices on wifi to find out what we could.  There was a report of only two deaths but some big buildings had collapsed.  The main centres hit were Visso and then Ussita up in the Sibilini mountains. Nobody slept well that night, the after shocks continued and the house shook gently every now and then reacting to the tremours.  It’s now a few days on and calm seems to have set in once more.  The Man looked at the website for earthquakes where he learnt that Italy has something like 27 a day but most are not felt as they are below 2.5. Not sure how I feel about that.

My second reason for not writing is that we are leaving Italy this week to go back to England,  so I have been busy sorting and packing.  Every time, throughout my life, when I make a move I do a big cull of things collected but still, I have a mountain of useless paraphernalia, some of which is impossible to dump – tiny baby shoes, first school blazers, christening outfits etc., I had the help of a friend and we were putting things into piles, keep, rubbish or ‘give it to the poor people!’ which sounded awful but in the town there are big yellow containers where you can place unwanted clothing, blankets, shoes, bags etc., that are too good to throw away.  There are no charity shops here, not that I’ve found anyway and was told I wouldn’t be allowed to transport stuff back to the UK simply to take it to the charity shop.

I began writing this post yesterday afternoon  and this morning we had another earthquake at 7.40am, 30th October.  It was reported at 6.6 or 7.1 depending on which website you looked on. It was pretty scary, we were  in bed at the time, drinking a cup of tea and as soon as the house began to shake we leapt up and legged it downstairs to the ground floor.
‘I’ve got no clothes on!’ shouted The Man.
‘No worries, I’ve got our dressing gowns, I grabbed them as we flew out of the bedroom.’ I called.
On reaching the sitting room the dog looked suitably shocked, probably more by our nakedness that the shaking of the house.  As before, neighbours were soon out in the square, half-dressed or with blankets over their night attire. Being British, we just looked through the window.  They are saying it was the strongest recorded shock in over 30 years and it lasted around 3 minutes.  Three minutes is a very long time to be standing in a house that’s rocking. the pictures skewed on the walls and the lamps hanging outside on our terrace were swinging as though a gale were blowing. My hands shook and I felt queasy and to be honest, for the rest of the day I have not felt 100%.  A friend of mine posted on Facebook that there is such a thing as an earthquake hangover so I guess that’s maybe what I’ve got.

 

 

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I’ll be leaving Italy with mixed feelings, it’s been a great few years and the weather has been very kind to us.  We love the people, the sea and the mountains, but the bureaucracy can get you down a bit…

Note Number 5… Memories…

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the fifties…me, me, me my sister and my dad

We’ve been sorting through things and packing. Inevitably it takes a while, especially for me because when I’m looking at photographs I become nostalgic, have to talk about each one of them and reminisce for a while. I did manage to throw out enough to make one box instead of two and I began to really appreciate digital photography because you can access those at any time, print off the ones you like and put them into frames, make albums on your computer and generally be very organised. I suppose there’s always a risk of hard drive failure but today you can probably store everything in ‘the cloud’.

I enjoyed looking at my past and laughed a lot at my many incarnations through the decades!
Pictures of my children as babies, toddlers, teenagers and adults – the time has flown by…so many memories; three weddings and as many funerals and that only includes immediate family. Good times, bad times, happy times, sad times…

I cannot possibly share all the photos with you but here’s a selection…

the sixites, with my first car and with our dog Amber.

the seventies I was a little bit busy Matt and Emily born…Check out my hair!

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the eighties, my sister, my mum, my bro and me…similar smiles I think

still the eighties… I was busier than in the seventies! First Thomas then Joe and Wills the twins…Emily so wanted a sister…ah well. I wasn’t going to have any more!

The nineties…horses and parties…still got the permed hair look!

ENOUGH FOR NOW…

I need to save some for my memoirs…if and when I get to write them…

Note Number 4…Getting Involved with the Story…

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BBC Radio 4 ‘The Archers…’

 

What makes us become so involved with a story? I’m thinking here of the recent events in The Archers between Helen and Rob Titchener. Even if you don’t listen to the programme on BBC Radio 4, there has been much talk on the Internet about Rob’s ‘coercive control’ behaviour, Helen’s stabbing of him and subsequent trial by jury which found her not guilty of Attempted Murder or Wounding with Intent. I got to the point earlier in 2016 when I had to stop listening because I became so emotionally involved with the storyline and began to hate Rob so much (I’m not really a hating sort of person) and wanted Helen to speak up for herself even though I understood why she wouldn’t. I worried about her son Henry and baby Jack.  I couldn’t bear to listen to the lies Rob told and just desperately wanted someone to remove him from storyline and I didn’t care how they did it. He could have been run over by a slow moving rubbish truck or cornered in a field by a flock of maggot ridden sheep and trampled to death. I’ve always maintained that whatever the circumstances, I could never bring myself to kill anyone but…Rob must have stirred something deep in my psyche…

If this had been a novel, what would I have done? Stopped reading? Turned to the back of the book to see the ending or skipped a few pages so that I could see how the story might be trending? What I did with The Archers was to read the twitter feed and check the the full synopsis on the BBC website. All this before I dared listen to any of the episodes, and, if I thought it was going to be too horrible then I would give that one a miss.

As a writer, I do not have the same fear for my characters even though I become inextricably involved in their lives and I care about them. I get excited about what they might get up to. I don’t mind getting them into awkward situations, killing them off, having them lie, becoming murderers and all number of other horrible things. I know where they’re going and I know their motives and I can control them – to a certain extent. But, have I got the knack to move my readers to the extent that I have been moved by The Archers? Is it the acting, the script or the storyline that are pulling me apart?

I do know people who can watch/read/listen to pretty much anything fictional that’s scary/disturbing/ghastly etc., and not be concerned. ‘It’s only a story, what’s your problem?’ they say as I hide behind a cushion, run out to the bathroom at a crucial moment or distract my mind by checking my emails on my phone or making a cup of tea.

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What are you like? Do you become drawn into a story to the point of screaming at the book/screen/radio, throwing the book/TV/Radio, in total frustration even though you KNOW it’s just a story and that the people aren’t real? That’s the bit that worries me about The Archers. I know it’s all fiction but I can’t help worrying about Helen and getting exasperated with characters who can’t see any wrong in Rob and worst of all I want Rob DEAD and he’s not even properly alive! I wonder how much hate mail he has received? I’ve only written a couple of letters…

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Note Number 3. Neighbours, Everybody Needs Good Neighbours…

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Neighbours 
Click on the link above and hear the title song

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…That’s When Good Neighbours Become Good Friends…

I’ve moved a good few times in my life and therefore I feel qualified to write about neighbours because over a period of greater than sixty years I’ve had a variety of them. Some I remember with fondness, some with exasperation and some with a mild sense of distaste in my mouth but on the whole they have been a pretty good cross section of society.

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Our Row of Little Cottages

Right now, we have the most splendid people living in our small terrace of three cottages and the farm opposite and of course the lady in the big house…
Last night we were treated to the most wonderful dinner party at the end terrace. Eight of us round the table; our two lovely neighbours, three of their family members and a friend. The food was bloody marvellous, well the lady that cooked it was a professional chef so we felt quite spoilt. The South African wine was delicious and the company exhilarating. How lucky are we? These neighbours are friendly, helpful can’t do enough for us but at the same time are not knocking on the door every five minutes…well not most days anyway. I feel blessed to have met them. Must ask for that potato dauphinoise recipe it was fabulous…

The people in the middle terrace are a young couple with two small boys but it’s a holiday place so they’re not here all the time but when they have been around they’ve proved to be excellent neighbours. The farmer and his wife are friendly and welcoming but extremely busy. I had forgotten how hard a farmer’s life can be and all for very little reward. Twenty-four seven, all year round. The cows always have to be milked even when it’s Christmas. I suppose I should be a good neighbour and offer to help but…

As for the lady in the big house…well she’s no problem at all…except, you’d want her on your side in any dispute!

In my late 20s with two young children I found myself homeless and a single parent. I ended up on a pretty rough Council estate in Weston Super Mare and for the first week I was devastated. But, life throws shit at you and you have to get on with it. I was given a maisonette and below us lived an old lady who could not have been sweeter to my son and daughter, they were about six and three years old at the time…we can count her as a good neighbour. But best of all was a young mum who lived with her husband and young baby in a house a few doors away. She became one of the closest friends I was every to have. She made my stay on the estate bearable and helped me see all the good things that were happening in my life. We had a good laugh, we cared for each other and we learned from each other. I could not have got through some of the bad times without her. Things were rough, money tight but she stopped me from hitting rock bottom. The sad thing is, this wonderful woman developed a non-malignant tumour that was wrapped around the top of her spinal chord. It was not possible to operate. An intolerable situation. She became paralysed and died quite quickly in her early thirties, leaving behind her husband and two daughters. What a loss. My beautiful neighbour, I think about her often and will go on missing her forever.

Now for a bad neighbour- I’ve had a few but I’m going to tell you about one we had in Italy. She was in her eighties and had lived at the house next door FOREVER…I could understand her coolness at having foreigners move in. I could have done so much to help her, shopping, cleaning etc., but she would not consider any friendly offer. She even called in the Carabinieri when we were doing some work in the garden and halted the proceedings saying that we had taken half a metre of her land. The powers that be came to measure and said, ‘Yes you have taken a little, it’s not too clear but in any case she has taken a metre and a half over your boundary at the top there.’
‘What should we do about it?’ I asked.
A shrug of the shoulders and he said, ‘Nothing, she’ll be dead soon.’
We were allowed to carry on with the work but she was such a nasty neighbour she pulled up our plants and stole some big stones that we had set out as ‘garden art’ and proceeded to bash them up in her own garden. Very strange. The Man thought she was practising some kind of voodoo…I must admit she was very thin and scrawny and little bit witch-like. She swore at us in Italian in a very high pitched voice and The Man would swear back in English, she couldn’t possibly understand. She did die – eventually but not until six years had been spent spying on us from her window and we’re sure, putting spells on us…creepy. We asked the family who sold us the house whether she’d always been a meany. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘She had a row with my grandmother and since then has always been really nasty to all of us and I suppose she’s just carrying on the feud with you.’ Thanks for not telling us before we bought the house Giacamino…Italians eh? Family feuds eh? Fortunately, she wasn’t able to actually enter our house so nothing nasty found in the bed…that episode in The Godfather brings a whole new meaning to the word ‘neigh(bour)’ hmmm…

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Another good neighbour lived (and still does) in a small house at the bottom of our rather long driveway where we lived in West Buckland. She was a teacher in the local primary school, Filleigh. When we first arrived, Thomas was six and the twins were three…she was brilliant with them. The boys were always knocking on the door or more likely barging in, and she never turned them away. She welcomed them and taught them so many wonderful things about animals and plants. There were always tadpoles and frogspawn in the spring, flowers in the summer…she made these lovely sweet, battered, deep fried elderflowers. She had cats and dogs and she loved children and animals. Her mission in life was to educate, in the best possible way. She was an outstanding teacher and not just in school. The boys adored her for all the ten years we lived there and still speak fondly of her now. You know who you are – Julie.

I could mention more neighbours but I’m saving those for my memoirs…

Those of you who know me will recognise that the song quoted in my title today was written by my bro Tony Hatch.

Note Number 2…Where Did You Get That Hat…?

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Last night, Saturday 10th September, I attended the Vittles and Verse poetry evening in Lyme Regis. I did read a couple of my own poems and they were well received (I think!) The event is held every month and I’m going to miss a couple while The Man and I travel back to Italia for an autumn visit but I’ll be returning again for another session as soon as I get the chance. There are some amazing poets in Dorset.  I’m talking about the others Not Me!

Being in the poetry mood – I thought I would write Note Number 2 in the theme of rhyming couplets…Well – the Panto Season will soon be upon us!

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Charity Shop Window – Most of the shop windows in Bridport featured hats on the day.

Bridport Hat Festival Saturday 3rd September 2016

In Bridport one fine Saturday
The residents, their hats display

Of many colours, styles and shapes
It’s lots of fun and jolly japes

Roger Snook from the hat shop in town
Gave a knowledgeable talk at the Rose and Crown
(actually it was The Bull Hotel but that doesn’t rhyme)

He told us stuff about hundreds of hats
So much, that I’ve forgotten the facts

I’ll share some interesting bits with you
If my memory is able to drag up a few
(see further down post)

The Man and I were unprepared for the day
So improvised quickly – let us just say…

I favoured a fascinator with feathers so chic
He bought a luminous chicken – minus the beak

Music and dancing buzzed in the street
The atmosphere was festive ‘twas all such a treat

In Bucky Doo Square as the clock struck one
A group photo is taken – it’s jolly good fun (not)

The rain held off ‘til about half past two
So events ran smoothly – as they usually do

Next year the festival will be with us again
And I’m already designing the hat I’ll wear then!

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The Man as a Chicken…me in my Fascinator only Mr Snook said thay were orginally known as a ‘TANTALISER’ which I think sounds far more interesting.

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Mr Roger Snook with his array of hats…..

Snooks hat shop has been in business in Bridport since 1896 and although the town is known for Rope Making the hat making industry was also significant in the town because they used the flax for weaving them.  Mr Snook wanted to point out however, that the family are not hat makers but hat retailers.  He can pretty well get you any hat that you want, at a price though!
Roger Snook’s other job, apart from running the family shop, is to look after the town clock which he asures us chimes 13 times at midnight every New Year’s Eve. I’ll have to pop along this year and make sure he’s not telling porky pies. The shop holds a large selection Fedoras which I do believe The Man is going to check out as he rather fancied this blue one. Although he might choose the Al Capone style with the rolled edge Hmmm.

Al Capone on the left…blue Fedora on the right

The Panama hat originated from Equador and we were given a demonstation as to how to correctly fold one.  They are rolled up and kept in a tube but should be ‘let out’ at least once a year.  They must ocassionally be hung up in the bathroom whilst a shower is being taken so the steam will help to keep flexibility – don’t let it drop in the bath, this was not recommended.  I’m not sure I have a picture of a Panama hat…what a shame but I think this rather large pink and white ladies hat is an example… (not traditional I know)

pink-screw-up-hat

 

A Few Facts from Mr Snook…

A Deerstalker is also known as a Fore and Aft. (I think this is also the name for an army/navy hat that can be worn either side to side – athwartor fore and aft).
The Fez was banned by the Turkish Government in 1925 as part of modernisation reforms.
The Hat Pin was invented in Gloucester, England.
There are 4 pints in a Ten Gallon Hat…and the name is derived from Route 66 in America because it takes 10 gallons of petrol to get from one petrol station to another on Route 66. (I’m still not sure why they would name the hat after this unless everyone driving  on Routee 66 wore one)
In 1896 Mr Bowler, Lord Cobham’s game keeper invented which hat? You guessed it…the Bowler Hat. Originally from cow hide stretched over a post but devloped from that point.
In 1910 it was the most popluar hat in Bolivia. Sold to the people as a hat which would increase fertility if they wore it.
A Pith Helmet is called thus because it was/is made from reeds. They were orginally white and were dyed using tea to camouflage them in the desert during the Zulu wars.
Poirot is the only person who wears a white bowler hat (is this true? I may have got that wrong).

Lots of pictures of hats now….

 

 

 

And finally….