Considering that I had nothing planned for this week, and was worrying that the children might find it rather a damp squib compared to the jet set lifestyle of sun, sea and sand they had last week, it is shaping up to be remarkably busy.
Yesterday was spent at my mum and dad’s with a nice mixture of doing very boring errands, enlivened by pottering about at antique fairs and charity shops, and knitting, and lounging about on granny’s verandah.
Granny and granddad deal in antique glass, mainly the dreaded carnival glass, which I won’t tell you about because my dad can tell you about it until the cows come home and we have all developed an involuntary twitch when it is mentioned. Even the children are expert in the matter. Ages ago, I set them up with a Pinterest account so they could pin some of the things they buy, as well as pin some of the examples they find here there and everywhere. It has languished in the dust rather, as life has rolled over them, making them learn things like tortoise sitting and cat coaxing instead. Yesterday we revived the account, dusted it off, and I spent a few happy hours creating many and various boards to do with antique glass ware, and pinning like a woman possessed. I came home with pinner’s wrist, but feeling remarkably relaxed. It is very therapeutic. Better than watching goldfish or stabbing everyone with a sharpened knitting needle. I really do not like Carnival Glass, but there are some stunning pieces of glass that aren’t carnival glass and I had a great deal of fun pinning Art Nouveau Loetz ink wells, which I would cut off an arm to own, or brilliantly colourful art marbles which make the dowdy green swirly ones from my childhood look very much like the poor relation.
The small children spent most of the afternoon playing with granny’s dolls’ houses. She quite often buys them to sell, but has been stymied recently by Oscar and Tallulah who fell in love with the last two she bought, and now have them set up in the front room, next door to each other. They have a shared garden between the houses which is the scene of many fights as they meet there to argue over who has got the best beds and why Tallulah has three toilets and Oscar has only two. If they were real neighbours I feel restraining orders might be appropriate. Things got rather heated yesterday. Mainly, it has to be said, because it is so hot at night times at the moment, that they are really struggling to sleep and it is making them slightly tetchy in the day time, hence my retreating to Pinterest to stop myself massacring the innocents when I simply cannot find the will to understand why they are fighting about a two inch lump of planed pine tree as if it were the Holy Grail itself.
At the Antique Fair we went to at Donnington Park in the morning it was slim pickings. Sometimes it is full of treasure, other times it is full of tat. Even on the days it is full of tat I am never bored, because I have quite a taste for outrageously horrible things. They amuse me greatly. I also like to see what the children are interested in. I am interested in everything and anything, but quite often the children will see things I might miss, because they’re shorter, and nosier. We were perusing some old road and business signs (which I love, but which are always way out of my price range if they are original), and we saw a sign for a limited business. Oscar said: ‘I know what Ltd. stands for when it’s on a business sign.’
Me: ‘Really? What does it stand for?’
Oscar: ‘Lots to do.’
Me: ‘Yep. Oh yes indeed.’
Oscar: ‘Because if you run a business you are always very busy, right?’
Me: ‘Oh yes.’
As you may recall, I am obsessed by crap taxidermy, and antique fairs, no matter how treasure filled, are always rich pickings for the discerning taxidermy owner. There was plenty to choose from yesterday. One table had an old orange box filled with abandoned mink stoles complete with faces and tails. The children were amazed in a horrified way. They wanted to adopt them all and look after them because they looked so moth eaten and unloved. I knew exactly what they meant, except we can’t, because Granny won’t allow fur and feather in the car because it makes her itch and she is very squeamish about deranged foxes with mange clinging onto scabby branches. Tsk.
As we were leaving the stall, Oscar said: ‘I loved those minxes.’
Tilly: ‘It isn’t a minx Oscar, it’s a mink.’
Oscar: ‘No! It said they were minxes. I read it. That’s what they were.’
Tilly gave a huge sigh: ‘I give up. Ok. They were minxes.’
Oscar: ‘I think minxes are cuter, less bitey versions of minks.’