Sorry sorry sorry….

It’s all gone a bit Pete Tong here in N-o-T of late, hence my lengthy absence from the blogosphere, for which I apologise. I’m not apologising for not updating my own ramblings, but I have been unable to devote the time I would like to the much more enjoyable pastime of reading others’ updates.

When last I wrote, we were dipping our toes into the waters of house moves.  Well, those toes are now fully submerged, and I am hoping to be able to keep my airways clear as I sink inexorably under a mountain of “particulars” and try to cling to the wreckage of my happily married life. 

I exaggerate only slightly. TH and I have started conducting our conversations through rigid jaws and clenched teeth. It’s what moving house does to people, apparently. 

It’s like this: after putting our house on the market, and sitting back to wait, what actually happened was….nothing. And then, suddenly, people started wanting to have a look at it, just when I was beginning to think that our happy home had all the kerb appeal of a cave set in a dungheap. And, when they came, they made offers. 

The first potential buyer appeared to think we should pay him to buy our house, and throw in some Nectar points and our children. I have a feeling he believes that Phil Spencer is a wimp, and that making an offer on a house involves taking the asking price, halving it and then taking off 10% for his trouble. We politely declined his derisory offer, at which point he came back with his architect to elaborate upon his redevelopment plan for our home, and then reiterated his derisory offer as he was by this time convinced that we would wish to help him finance his extension. We politely declined a second time, at which point he advised our agent that he would see if our house was still available once he had sold his property, and perhaps make an offer again.  God loves a trier!

Fortunately, another buyer came along, obviating the need for buyer no.1 to renew his offer yet again. After some negotiations, we agreed a sale price. However, the only slight issue was that they wanted to move in during August if possible. The fact that they had actually viewed our house before buyer no.1, gone away and spent about six weeks messing about, and now want to move in within six weeks was a slight niggle. 

Having abandoned our own search pending being in a position to buy, we now find that there isn’t a house within a five mile radius of where we’d like to be that actually suits our needs or our budget. Hence the teeth-gritting and marriage breakdown issues. 

As the weather finally (and, no doubt, briefly) improves here in N-o-T, I find myself driving over hill and dale, sometimes with TH (in a silence which no-one would ever describe as “companionable”) past properties I’ve previously identified online, whilst TH hits the accelerator and mumbles “Nah” having seen the potential property in a blur at 45 mph from his rear-view mirror. If I’m alone, I take the time to stop, at least, before mumbling my own “Nah”. But that, of course, is different.

And, when I’m not getting lost somewhere in the hinterland of Guildford, I’m embarking on a new venture. 

I was fully intending to purchase a pottery kiln before TH announced his desire to move house. I then decided that it might be better to wait till after “the move”. However, I was then offered the chance to purchase a secondhand kiln, only a few months old, for a bargain price, so I HAD to go for it. Having made a significant investment, I now need to amortise this by actually selling some of my wares.

As a result, this weekend, I will be dipping my already sodden toes into yet another pool: this time, the pool of the Craft Fair. I’m doubly apprehensive. Not only will this be a test of the commercial potential of my crafts, it will be a waste of an entire Saturday that should, by rights, be devoted to house-hunting and jaw-gritting, in the passenger seat of TH’s speeding car.

I am sorry I’ve been so out of touch with the blogosphere. I promise I will try harder.

Aaaaaand breathe!

Oh, and Pee Ess: We got all scrubbed up and posh two weeks ago and went up to London for our Garden Party  with the neighbours. It was all very posh, and they even let us in through the front door, but I nearly died of hypothermia. Still, she does a nice round of sandwiches, and I couldn't fault the finger food, although after all these years I was expecting more than just a cup of tea. A small sherry for medicinal purposes would have gone down a treat.

Pottering about, or about pottering

As mentioned in my profile, I have a very short attention span when it comes to hobbies.  As a consequence, I get through hobbies like some people get through underwear. I change them often.  Then again, there are things I do that other people seem to classify as hobbies, but to me they’re part of life.  Reading, for example.  To me, that’s not a hobby. In fact, if you’re going to classify reading as a hobby, then I might as well list breathing as one of mine. And when does cooking become a hobby? And, if cooking, why not ironing?

Anyway, I digress.  I like hobbies where you can make stuff.  However, I guess I’m blessed with a gift that means I can make most things quite easily, so as a consequence I make stuff I don’t really need or have a use for, and then wonder why I did it. Our house is adorned with bits of useless papercraft which, whilst they look very decorative, ONLY look very decorative. They have no real purpose other than decoration, and there’s only so much useless tat you can display without making your house look as though you’ve turned it into a primary school art display.

 About three years ago, however, I met my nemesis. I signed up for Adult Education classes in Ceramics. I was going to make pots! My expectations were initially low, and I managed not to meet them with amazing success. OK, I didn’t make any of those wonky ashtrays that schoolchildren always seemed to bring home when given the opportunity to be creative with clay, but my first efforts were only a little better. And, for a long time, “ a little better” was about as good as it got.  Being honest, I haven’t ever really grown out of the belief that if I turn my hand to something, I will produce professional quality things within seconds, and now I’m twentyteen I should really know better, but my inability to produce my first masterpiece after half a term was a disappointment. Nevertheless, I stuck with it. I began with a lot of hand-built pots, which looked…well, they looked hand built. In fact, most of them looked as though they had been hand built by someone with impaired vision and one hand tied behind their back. So then, after a year of hand-building, I thought I’d try throwing.

 

You may be familiar with the film “Ghost”. I’m not, especially, but I’ve still seen the bit where  Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze make a phallic symbol out of clay on a pottery wheel whilst  listening to “Unchained Melody”. If you haven’t seen it, you should. Not so much for the slightly risqué imagery, more so that you can marvel in wonder that, apart from getting their hands covered in clay, they stay relatively clean. This, in spite of the fact that Mr Swayze has had the foresight to remove his shirt.  Now if I were remaking this scene, I would have them both dressed in wellies, a pac-a-mac and sou’wester, and have all the scenery draped in plastic sheeting.  I came back from most of my throwing experiences covered in clay up to my armpits. My trousers (in spite of the judicious use of an apron and an old towel) generally ended up so covered in clay that, had it set before I got home, I would have looked like I was half-woman, half-statue. Blowing my nose, even several days after a class, I could find that one or both of my nostrils contained enough clay to make a small dish.

Somehow, I’ve not only continued with this hobby, but (after abandoning the wheel for the rather cleaner and more controllable hand building) I’ve finally begun to make some half-decent pots.The main problem I’m starting to have is what to do with them. I have classmates who occasionally join in with local craft sales and manage to sell some of their work, but I’m still a long way off being confident enough in the quality of my output to risk it. I’ve shipped a fair quantity over to our second home in France, in the spirit of “out of sight, out of mind”, but I’m now wondering if we’ll ever have enough guests, either here in N-o-T, or in France, for me to call my increasing number of serving dishes and bowls  into service. I can’t see it myself. 

I leave you with a little example of my vast body of work…