Friday 26th August I'm sitting cross legged in the middle of a wet field with nothing but my pyjama bottoms and a sheet of polyester between my bottom and the earth. The early morning dampness hangs in the air and the sun sits low in the sky. Across the field there are others like me; some sitting, some gently stretching their arms to the sky, some slowly walking over to the other side. I haven't taken up yoga or eloped to join a cult, I've joined the millions who holiday under canvas or polyester every year; I've gone camping. Continue reading...
Find the time to play a little... Continue reading...
My grandparents had a box of buttons. It was a small cardboard box held together with sticky brown tape and it was filled to the brim with buttons of every shape and size you could possibly imagine. There were shiny metal ones; large brown ones perhaps once belonging to an old teddy bear; there were small prim white ones from a crisp cotton shirt; there were discs the colours of Smarties. Some were old with peeling surfaces, some were as bright as a pin and some still had cotton thread woven around their middles. I loved each and every one.
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My beautiful little goddaughter, Hannah, turned 4 this month and Rob and I helped her mum and dad set up a birthday party for her at a local hall so that she could celebrate with her adorable baby sister and her friends. Read post
