It has been a good week for treasure, and I must focus on this given the sick/nit/dead mouse/endless laundry situation that otherwise occupies my mind.
So please excuse another gratuitous post where I show the burglars of Broughton Astley why it would be a fool’s errand to break into my house.
These are Pierre Hardy for Gap, limited edition sandals. I paid the princely sum of £3 from the Loros shop down the road.
I do love a bit of bling at the moment, so I couldn’t resist these:
pinky gold metallic ballet flats. They were also £3. They are nothing special, some cheap brand, but I have found that comfortable ballet flats are either hideously expensive, or dirt cheap. Mid range ballet flats are never, ever comfortable. And, as they all wear out as quickly, it’s cheap ones for me every time. If someone else has broken them in, so much the better. They are even more comfortable.
I also splashed out the princely sum of 99p on a Diesel vest which was in such good nick I am sure it has never been worn:
The Burleigh Pottery in Stoke on Trent is rather a delight. I had never been before, but a friend told me it was a stone’s throw from Bridgewater, and they currently have a summer sale with a lot of stock 50% off. I have a small but abiding passion for Burleigh ware, and as we had time this afternoon, we popped in.
It is nothing like the scale of Bridgewater. Instead of a cafe there is a long trestle table with colouring books and pens for the children, and a basket of magazines for the adults. The catering is a small kitchen area where you can help yourself to a cuppa and a biscuit as long as you put a donation in the charity box.
It does have a certain charm to it though, if you like functional Victorian architecture, which I do, very much.
The room is rather like a church to pottery. It has that architectural feel about it. The pots are there in profusion, and in the Burleigh colour ways (lots of blue and white, blue and cream, red and cream, black and cream), and stacked to the rafters, it looks amazing.
There were some glorious things there, and I totally failed to resist them. I bought three bowls:
This is the Daddy bowl. The pattern is called Charlotte. The bowl is huge. It cost £20 because there is a fault in the clay pre glazing, which shows on the outside of the bowl. I don’t care.
This is the Mummy bowl. It is in a pattern called Asiatic Pheasants. It is slightly smaller than the Daddy bowl, but cost the same, because it doesn’t have the same flaws as the bigger bowl.
This is the Baby bowl. It is in a pattern called Chintz, and is about half as deep again as a standard cereal bowl, but with smooth sides, no lip and a rounded bum. It cost me £9.
I have stacked them inside each other, and they look fabulous. Now they will collect dust waiting for the day when either a) Jason throws them all at the wall, or b) I get the house of my dreams with lots of dresser space, or c) I go into the catering business and need hundreds of mismatched, slightly damaged bowls that nobody else but me loves.