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girls gone gallivanting

 too many years and too many hardships therein had left me but a small shadow of a former self. I was the shell of half a girl, in both literal and metaphorical terms. 

Slowly slowly I started to crawl back. One slow and scary step at a time.

The painfulness of that time is too much to tell in a single sitting, so let us skip over it and instead proceed to the present day moment. I'm here and it's now, so let's get on with it.

Today for the first time, around about half past ten (hallelujah it began raining men lol) Marie found me at the (wrong) bus stop and we began what was my first adventure after eight months on the island. It was, also, my first adventure with someone by my side in an even longer time, so it was strange yet somehow really nice at the same time. Did it leave me feeling exhilarated and exhausted in equal measure? Yes. Would I change that for the world? Most certainly not.

Trying to look back on the series of events, my recollection is a little hazy as I quite comfortably assumed the position of backseat passenger. She goes on a trip almost every weekend (be it solo or with Sylvia as a sidekick) and, well I'm a novice in comparison and was quite happy to simply follow her lead. None of the responsibility, all of the rewards. 

There were buses and walking and then actually living. Walking talking sitting looking feeling hearing smelling tasting seeing and sensing everything that what was once normal for me. Anyway, these are the photos I have of the day, let's just stick them in and let them tell my story for me. I need to go to sleep soon.

she came to meet me at the bus stop

we left the city behind

she explained how her brain translates images of maps into physical spaces

we stopped at a beach 

and sat and talked. 

I was happy there.

we walked some more and she was happier there

going back the way we came but with a diversion of sorts, we walked some more back to the road and the bus before going back to the city.

time slipping

beautiful but brief

Not so long ago I took the train to Edinburgh for a few days. My name had been put forward to invite as an alumni to attend the Inches Carr Awards dinner ceremony held at Edinburgh College of Art. The invitation came at a time when I was feeling disconnected from both other creative people and my own creativity, so it seems like the right thing coming at the right time. It was lovely to be back in a place that feels like home, where the streets hold stories, where every turn brings back a different memory. And it was equally lovely to be back among fellow makers, designers and artists, having the feeling of fitting in and somehow feeling like I belong.

The next two days were ever so special; seeing Jenny, being at her side, doing lots of lovely things and doing nothing in particular together again.

Back in North Yorkshire I was more motivated for going out doing, looking and drawing.

she came to visit

This is my mum, Mary. She is the best. To say our relationship has become deeper and stronger over the past two years is quite true. I was a headstrong, adventurous teenager, and became even more of an adventurous, headstrong student. So I didn't always give her the best; I was a lot of hard work hence our constant arguments and the endless tirades on my part, given in response to her attempts at parenting. She loves me too much, that's sometimes the problem. But this time two years ago I graduated from Edinburgh College of Art. I knew she was proud of me because she came to London to see my exhibition and then at dinner afterwards she gave me her pearl necklace. That summed up so so much in one simple gesture. I always loved that pearl. I love the story behind it, I love how much mum loves the people and her life in the story behind it, I love how it's kept so carefully in a drawer, I love the smell of those drawers, I love the red colour of the box, I love the size of the pearl, I love the sleek golden attachment, I love the length of the chain, I love how wearing it brings out an elegance in my collar bones. I love so many things about it. And I wasn't even allowed to borrow it. Now, I love that she loved it so much she was scared to lose it. And now it's mine. Not only has she let me wear it, she has let me keep it. Where it can be mine and build my own story behind it, on top of hers. Where it can remind me how much I love the people and life from that time. Where I can keep it carefully in a drawer of my own, in a room with a smell of it's own. Where I can wear it and feel elegant. Where I can wear it and feel close to her. Where I can make a gesture to show how much I love her. This time last year she supported me through a very difficult and emotional stage of my life, and supported me in my choices to get out. It is because of that support I found a new friend and my first job. I now work as a Childrenswear Designer - exactly what I would have told you I'd like to do in my career, if had you asked when I was studying. I am a lucky girl. And again, mum came to visit. To show she both cares about me and is also proud of me. She came to Yorkshire to see my first job, where it has brought me in geography and in life, where I am finally grown up. That first month I paid my own rent for the first time in my life, I felt so proud of myself, to have finally done it and made it to where I wanted to go. I owe so much of the pride in myself to her, because of all the support over all the year. If she hadn't helped me how she did, or if she hadn't always been there for me when I needed her, if she hadn't learned to listen, I wouldn't be where I am today. Or who I am today. I'd wouldn't be half the person. I promise.

it took ten trains

The bank holiday weekend took me by surprise. Not realising we had two days off work, meaning a total four days of freedom, I had to come up with a last-minute plan. Where to go and what to do? To stay at home, do next to nothing and just enjoy being lazy was very tempting. But I knew I'd be bored by the second day. So instead I sent a text to Ian to see if it suited him for me to come visit the farm. He, of course, said yes. 

Booking a ticket from small rural village to small rural town meant a disjointed journey over five trains and six hours for a route which could have been covered by a two and a half hour drive door to door.

But it was worth the trek. After picking me up from the station we drove to a bison farm where we dropped a delivery to their farm shop then had afternoon tea in their cafe. Sharing toasted hot cross buns with melted butter was the perfect introduction to an Easter holiday.

Back on the farm we slipped right back into the household dynamic we developed over the summer. Except this time with the addition of his constant moaning and reprimanding about keeping doors closed to keep the heat in. Argh to the headaches of winter. 

Saturday morning he took me to his gym on a free visitor pass. I swam in the hotel spa style pool, half way between exerting myself properly and not really trying, just enjoying the feeling of being somewhere luxurious. Followed by a long sit in the sauna and a gloriously warm, clean shower, we drove home in the near silence of post-exercise bliss. The best breakfast ever was his own homemade sourdough toast topped with real, salted farm butter and poached local eggs, plus a mug of strong black coffee. We ate and sat and sat and sat, neither in a rush to go anywhere.

By afternoon time the need was upon us to drive to town and go to the supermarket. Ian, having lived 4 years in China, took advantage of my presence by asking Tara to prepare Chinese food for us. Mostly he wanted dumplings and would be content with whatever else thereafter. Shopping done, he went to feed the cows while I sat on the couch with a beer and a notebook. Tara served our dinner in the sitting room and we had the special treat of delicious food shared in good company with a movie and more beer.

Sunday was a different story. Less self-indulgent and more compromising. The weather was beautiful and I had a bright, fresh morning run before going to church with Betty. For a girl raised Catholic, the Protestant service felt like a much friendlier affair with cheerful music and singing and post-service coffee and biscuits and standing around to chat. 

Back on the farm Ian had the turkey in the oven while the old folks had the vegetables, potatoes and puddings covered. All I had do to was make the gravy. Easy peasy. The next three hours were, however, not. To sit and smile through endless, tedious small talk required exerting the highest levels of self control to remain calm, polite and fidget free while retaining an expression of feigned, mild interest when inside I was screaming 'get me out of here'. 

Don't get me wrong, old people are lovely, but maybe just not lots of them, at the same time, in the same room, for an entire afternoon. 

jumpers

Made by Lauren Knight.

Modelled by me.

one mile and many moors

North Yorkshire. Hello hello.

Did I ever think I would end up here? Certainly not. A place unto itself, I feel as though I have stepped back in time. Or through the wardrobe into the Narnia of England. The first two weeks of settling in were lovely as Lauren was here to hold my hand. Born and bred, after moving away then coming back for two years her time had come to move to London. My time had come to fill her shoes, to take up my first real job as a Designer. It felt like a big day, my first graduate position. My first pay check. My first rent payment with 100% my own earnings. My first deposit into a pension. I felt terribly grown up and terribly vulnerable, naive and babylike all at the same time. 

During the 9-5 working day we discussed all matters of serious issues, I had a lot of learning to do in a short time frame. By evenings and weekends we had fun, making pottery, eating dinner, drinking wine, walking on the hills, taking photographs, driving across the moors, laughing and chatting and living along. Then I found myself alone with no friends but my own good self. Luckily I enjoy my own company and live a fairly analogue lifestyle, which fills any weekend time quite well.

Weekend trips away and out of this small village are an adventure. Sometimes for one, sometimes to be shared as a two. The first weekend was a date with David Hockney; I took the train to Saltaire and spent the day at Salt's Mill, loving every minute of treating myself hiding from the rain amidst his colours and drawings, the books and the gift shop, the restaurant and cafe, I had a lovely day.

The second weekend was a train to Lancaster where I met Chloe in her granny's green coat. And got back my willow tree she had been babysitting since summer. We drank good coffee, visited the super cool Supermarche, had fancy pub food, looked at books, and bought nice bread.