Digby or Digbina

Tetbury in the rain. I'd happily live in any one of these houses. I pointed my camera at pretty front doors and peered through windows and I can report they are absolutely dreamy inside. Quirky, low ceilinged, small roomed in parts, but all delightful. I was even happier when I found the local allotments.There was one with my name on it.

For those of you who aren't local, Tetbury is a little bit posh. The Prince of Wales lives just down the road, and there's a shop selling his organic products. Also loads of antiques shops and artisan cheeses and wax jackets and, oh, you know the sort of place I mean. I don't shop there, I'm too scruffy and inferior, but I do like looking at the houses. If I lived in a beautiful old home I shouldn't mind people taking photos. I would almost expect it I think. They're a piece of our heritage. One day someone will come out of the door at the exact moment I'm photographing a particularly good knocker and I shall be all shown up. I doubt it'll stop me though.

I reported the other day how sad it is that the littlest boy has lost his bigger brother to the joys of fishing. The other half must have been feeling a bit sorry for him as well, because in the car on the way to the canal he told him he could have a dog! I'm wary of using exclamation marks, but really, I think that warrants it, and italics as well. Other half backtracked a little and said it wouldn't be for two years, and then he would have to wait until his birthday, so it would be when he is ten (two and a half years away). Everyone went a little bit quiet in surprise. I think the littlest boy didn't dare say anything in case it was all retracted. But it's been said now and it can't be unsaid. The dog is out of the bag.

We had a quiet conversation earlier, just me and him, about what he might call his Very Own Doggy. I asked if we could call him Digby. I've always had a fancy for a dog called Digby. Digby Dog. I imagined he might be a sausage dog, but I've a feeling the littlest boy will need something a touch more robust. He asked what we should call it if it was a girl. I gave it a moment's thought and came up with Digbina. Honestly, my imagination is genius at times.

Wishing you all a dry Sunday. Although of course it won't be. CJ xx

The one that got away

Another fishing trip, but no luck yet, unless you count the one that got away. I stood manfully in the rain, clutching the net, just in case, and wondering what it was like on board the narrowboats. Woodsmoke was drifting from chimneys, and I could hear occasional laughter and the clatter of plates. The middle boy declared it an even better fishing expedition than the first one though, and that made it worthwhile.

The surrounding farmland was saturated, but that's to be expected, it's low lying land and the farmers are used to water lying on the surface at this time of year. The cows were splendidly stinky, I wish I could share the experience here, you will just have to imagine it. All in all it was a full range of sensory experiences. 

I had a nice outing with the two littler boys yesterday afternoon. The biggest was back at school, it was wet so we just went for a trip to a different library to our usual one. Something about it was just right. It wasn't a special place or anything, but sometimes everything just clicks and makes a moment. It was cosy in the library, there were new books, harmony between brothers, I found a new writer that I wanted to read. I think we were all aware that it was the last bit of the holidays. I had planned something a bit more special, but I decided against it because of the rain. In the end it was as good an afternoon as we would have had elsewhere. Time to be together calmly and happily. A memory to carry forward into the new week and the new term. It doesn't have to be fancy, sometimes it just works.

Drifting, fishing and bouncing

Lazily drifting through these post-Christmas days. We walked over the Clifton suspension bridge, built in 1864 to link Clifton to Leigh Woods over the Avon Gorge. It was closed for only the second time ever on 30th December when Storm Frank swept in. The sun was setting as we walked back and the lights were coming on in the beautiful houses on Sion Hill.

The middle boy has had a good couple of days. On New Year's Eve we found an excellent fishing shop that was open in the afternoon, so he invested his Christmas money, carefully gathered from generous friends, relatives and Father Christmas, and bought himself a fishing rod together with the various bits and bobs that go along with it. Yesterday we went to the canal and had a bit of a go. His first cast was excellent, the second one went about three feet out, and the third one flew through the air and landed on the far bank. Happily we found someone to throw it back. 

I have to say it was cold and damp, even with hot soup, but the middle boy was very happy, even though he didn't catch anything. He wants to go again immediately. I'm a bit sad for the littlest boy who has lost his chum for playing in the woods with. They have so much fun together on their imaginary adventures, but now the middle boy just wants to fish. Hopefully he'll still play sometimes too. The littlest boy found a small bouncy dog to play with for a while which partly made up for the fraternal abandonment. Of course, a small bouncy dog of his very own would be the best compensation...

Colour Collaborative: December: Berry

Berries are the jewels of winter. While everything else is pale and frosty or in every shade of brown, berries are a splash of carmine in a monochrome landscape, all the better for birds to find them. Whichever season they ripen in, the birds will never be far behind to gorge on the edible fruits.

This is the perfect time of year to add berries to the garden. Bare root strawberries or soft fruit canes will settle in happily now and start to bear fruit in the summer. Firstly the fresh green of acid sharp gooseberries, then pale green strawberries swelling in June. They're usually ready in time for Wimbledon.

Then come the deeper reds of raspberries and tayberries, with their delicious tangy taste. The clear crimson of wineberries. And at the allotment handfuls of the deepest purple blackberries.

In pots on the patio are blueberries. I photograph them endlessly as the berries change from an icy pale green to pink to purple before they reach perfect dark blue ripeness. They like ericaceous soil but otherwise they're easy to grow and very pretty as well. In autumn the leaves turn a spectacular range of vivid reds.

Berries are the easiest of things to grow. They are undemanding but every year they give one of the best harvests in the garden. If there's a sunny corner in your garden I guarantee you won't regret popping in a plant or two.

It just remains for me to wish you all the happiest of New Years. I shall be resolving to do all the usual stuff - be healthier, lose weight, write more, achieve a few things. You never know, 2016 might be the year it sticks. CJ xx

To visit the other Colour Collaborative blogs for more of this month's posts, just click on the links below: 

             Annie at Annie Cholewa               Gillian at Tales from a Happy House

             Jennifer at Thistlebear                 Sarah at Mitenska

What is The Colour Collaborative?

All creative bloggers make stuff, gather stuff, shape stuff, and share stuff. Mostly they work on their own, but what happens when a group of them work together? Is a creative collaboration greater than the sum of its parts? We think so and we hope you will too. We'll each be offering our own monthly take on a colour related theme, and hoping that in combination our ideas will encourage us, and perhaps you, to think about colour in new ways.

The return of Superman

look closely - daffodils! In December

Ah, Christmas. 364 days away. Bliss. Don't get me wrong, I do like it. But I like to get past it as well. I'm eyeing the tree and wondering how soon I can slide it into the green bin. It hasn't been helped by the sudden diabolo craze around here. It was a late request from the littlest boy, and somehow Father Christmas managed to pull one out of the bag. The biggest boy also has one, and the middle boy has a yo-yo. The living room is full of flying objects. The diabolo-ers are getting all tricksy and swinging it round their heads and throwing it back and forth to each other. The tree is crashed into on average about once every seven minutes. My nerves are in shreds. I know, I say that every year. Anyway, the tree is leaning and no longer looking its best and its days are numbered.

We went for a walk on Christmas Eve to look at pretty cottages and houses looking deliciously cosy in the fading light. I do so love Christmas Eve afternoon. Then yesterday we went to the beach where the wind was roaring. The littlest boy had a new Superman costume for Christmas. You may recall how much he loved the old one. He was so happy to have a new one, also a Batman top and cape, some camouflage trousers and a couple of camouflage bandanas. He was thrilled with it all and has been wildly mixing and matching ever since.

Down towards the dangerous sinking mud a man was digging for bait. I took the middle boy down to see what he was getting, in the interests of furthering his fishing education. The littlest boy came too. We got to about six feet away from him and suddenly my boots sank through the surface crust of the mud and I WAS SINKING. There are danger signs everywhere advising you not to go too far out because it gets to the stage where you just can't pull your feet out. I started dancing around like a maniac and shrieking "I'm sinking, I'm sinking" and although I'd been on top of the mud just a moment before I couldn't for the life of me get back to a bit where I wasn't sinking. The bait digger said helpfully, "You should have worn your wellies." I managed to suck myself out, but honestly, the mud was all over my feet by that time. We never did get to see what he had in his bucket. I did learn a little something about how far to go out. But I still don't understand why no-one else was sinking. Not even his car. It couldn't be that I was the fattest could it? I'm not going to have to make a New Year's resolution or anything am I?

So that's the news from here really. Christmas - over it. Diabolo - look out! Mud - new respect. You?