Yesterday I went treasure hunting with mum and dad.
I don’t get the time to do it very often any more, and wasn’t sure if we were going to make it yesterday either. The word ‘snow’ was being bandied about on various weather stations and I had deep misgivings.
We have had interesting weather over the weekend.
It has rained so hard that my beautiful herringbone path became, as a friend’s son said, ‘a river, mummy’. The flat roof on the kitchen extension became a lake, and Jason and his friend Zeph (thank you, Zeph for being there when we found the leak that led us to the lake), plodged around unblocking down spouts and encouraging the two feet of water that had built up to escape. Lizzie and I did the needful, and kept the kettle on a constant boil whilst poking interestedly at the giant wet patch in the plaster.
I cannot tell you how grateful I am that I did not have to post myself out of the landing window again. The last time Jason and I had an adventure where I had to post myself through the landing window we nearly divorced.
Then there was the spontaneous yet spectacular thunder storm on Saturday afternoon which actually blew half the roof of a friend of mine’s local Sikh temple and sent wooden roof supports flying forty feet into the air.
I totally wouldn’t have put it past it to snow so hard that we would be forced to live in an aircraft hanger surrounded by moulting fox heads and sword sticks while we cannibalised each other until someone dug us out.
As it was, we just got icy wind and more rain. Because more rain is really what we need…
We spent a joyful morning poking around the Donnington Antiques Fair. It was one of those days where, had I been independently wealthy, we would have had to hire a van to bring back all the shiny things I fell in love with. It is the law that you either go to a fair and find nothing you would give house room to, or go to a fair and come back with a lorry load of things.
I did bring back a picture, which I will post about anon. There were lots of things I did not bring back.
Lovely things I coveted included two beautiful pictures, one Japanese, one Chinese. I did not enquire as to the price. You could tell, just from looking at them that I could not afford them. Ditto the prettiest writing bureau that had come off of an ocean liner that was all spindly legs and delicate drawer handles and which I would have reduced to match wood after about a week.
The thing I coveted most that I didn’t bring home was a beautiful Art Nouveau green glass vase which stood about a foot tall and which had lily patterns etched into it. It was stunning, and I nearly, nearly succumbed until I realised that when the cat inevitably knocked it over and smashed it into a billion shining pieces, I would have to kill her.
Slightly ridiculous things that I wanted included, two large, ex carousel toys, rabbits riding mopeds, that would have been excellent in the garden. Jason and I could have had one each. Then there was the clocking in machine from a factory, and a change dispenser from an amusement arcade. I also quite fancied an old, brass telescope which would have looked excellent on my decking.
Totally ridiculous things included a very poorly looking old Womble toy which had a bent beak, a depressed air and very dishevelled fur. I felt about him the way one feels about three legged dogs at the RSPCA centre. You feel that you need to give them a good home for the sake of humanity.
I didn’t come home with the Womble.
Nor was I allowed to bring bag an enormous range of moth eaten taxidermy, including a very poorly looking squirrel who had lost nearly all his tail fur and who was perched forlornly on a tree stump. A bargain at only twenty five pounds.
My absolute favourite however, was a fox head. Just the head. Not even the neck. It had one eye set in on the skew, so it would have looked quite rakish, were it not for incipient mange and the loss of one ear. I wanted to buy it for Jason and put it on the end of a broom handle. He’s always talking about justifying the things I do by creating him a graph showing all my figures, ‘represented by foxes heads on sticks.’
He would have been so impressed.
I can’t believe mum refused to ride in the car with foxy.
She’s so difficult.