The House That Just Keeps Giving

Having been plotting a blog post all day yesterday (and never quite getting to it) this morning I woke up and decided that the only answer to everything (at that particular moment) was to move my sewing gear from the rather dark, although very big, room downstairs up to my attic room. On several occasions I've thought about bringing sewing up here, if only because there's LOADS of light courtesy of the 2 veluxes. But this morning it all became clear that although this is my bedroom, it could also do a very good job of being a sewing room.

Some time later I found myself downstairs getting some breakfast and starting the move upstairs of the first critical items for trying out my sewing-room-in-the-attic theory (sewing machine, sewing box, dress makers dummy). I also grabbed a couple of items I thought I might work on today and pulled down what I thought was a full-length dress I'd been thinking of turning into a skirt. Ha! Nope, this was a cocktail dress. That fits perfectly. And has now become my outfit for an imminent wedding. This house has always provided a lot, the phrase "came with the house" being commonly used, but when my house provides waiting places for things which I know I brought in so they can be there at the perfect moment, well, it's just ace. Outfit problem: solved. Fabric store: not quite as overflowing as it was before. Tigger: happy.

Yesterday was an awesome day. I did very little but did manage to spend a large chunk of time wandering around in the sunshine and then down on the beach enjoying the sun and going for a bit of a soak in the sea (I can't call it swimming - I really was just floating around rather than anything as active as swiming!) I still love my usual spot but the tides are incredibly high at the moment which means there isn't any sand which doesn't get soaked twice a day. It's also a rubbish place to go for a swim from as the water stays very shallow. So I thought I'd try the bit of beach just to the south of the car park at the Battery - and it was perfect! I was surprised by how high the tide ended up coming before beginning to recede but it did mean that, navigating submerged rocks aside, there was a decent amount of water to float around in very close to where I'd left my stuff. Brilliant.

There was a group next to me (I think it comprised three generations of one family plus a couple of friends), with a girl of about 10 who proclaimed "This is the best day ever!" - and I had to agree with her. They were also rather surprised by the height the tide rose to and I ended up rescuing a couple of plastic sand-toys which had started to float off into the bay. I also managed to stumble on aforementioned submerged rocks while giving them back to them - but even that was great in a weird way. I've got the first graze on my knee that I've had for about 20 years! (it's in the classic "fall over and graze your knee" position of being a small-by which I mean under 10- person) Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

I'm also BEGINNING to feel more human - along with sleeping and pottering, yesterday involved 2 baths and a soak in the sea and I'm now feeling up to doing more useful things (like sewing and trogging things up the stairs). Even the weather is co-ordinating itself with my mood - it's rainy today but still very mild meaning lurking on the beach isn't really an option but enjoying the brightness of my attic room is. Fantastico. And with that - to the sewing machine!

On the mend. Hopefully.

I'm really lucky in that, more often than not, I'm in good health. Yes, I suffer from the odd bit of hayfever and have had a couple of interesting health experiences in the past, but normally not much gets me down.

This week was the exception.

Wednesday I first noticed something was awry and I suspected a cold. Went to the steam room, felt a lot better, pressed ahead with Thursday. Thursday was OK and although a gamble, I proceeded with an evening out - by the end of which said cold had made a definite come back. Friday was a joke (among other things I managed to call my boss not only by a name that wasn't his, but by a name that wasn't even the right gender. In an interview) and I crawled home about 4pm. No steam on Friday as it was boys-only night. Boo. Crawled into bed feeling very sorry for myself and hoping rest would do the trick.

Ha. As if. Woke up on Saturday feeling only marginally better - and definitely not of the magnitude I was expecting after a big ol' chunk of sleep. Dragged myself out of bed thinking from 10.30 it was boys only again. It wasn't. But I made it there, felt a bit better, then went on a "things that might make me better" spending spree before collapsing back home. Some "flu plus" tablets made the day tolerable but by 3pm it was clear that moving further than my little flat really wasn't going to happen - all remaining plans for the weekend got cancelled (which was a real shame but in reality the only option...other than going out, being really ill and potentially making others ill which, in my mind, isn't an option) and the day was spent on the sofa.

And on a brief aside, I'm now convinced this sofa was the best investment I've made, pound for pound. I love it. It makes my life better. It makes being ill better. It has scatter cushions and is deeper than your average sofa. It works in my living room and gives me a cosy corner. Ace.

So this morning. Woke up not as filled full of bung as I had been yesterday - but still feeling pretty wiped out. Part of me wants to get up and get on - part of me is still really tired and, mainly, worried about doing too much and ending up ill and pathetic again. Or am I being over-protective of myself? Oh, who knows.

More importantly, tho', why this whingey "I've been ill" epic? Because it's made me value my health and also recognise what I don't have. While out buying provisions yesterday (and moving around at snail's pace - which is always a good sign of an ill Tigger) the chap in front of me was purchasing similar bits and pieces for his "wife - she's got a bad case of Man Flu. Never seen her like this before". And yet there I was, trawling around the the bits myself. Cooking up potions on my return home (a further reinforcement of my state yesterday was, at the end of the day, realising I'd consumed a bulb of garlic without particularly noticing. This morning, doing some washing up, I certainly noticed the garlic. Crikey - definitely no vampires in this house). Hobbling off to bed. Urg.

The "good old days" of community and several generations of family living in one home in no way were perfect all the time - and I know if I was really really ill to the point of being unable to look after myself there are people I could call on or get myself to. But for that middle ground, that "I'd like someone to look after me but I'll survive if they don't" time, for then I just get my own company.

And actually, that's OK. It's a bit mis at times, but only fleetingly - and let's face it, yesterday I was more interested in distraction (hurrah for the internet and DVDs) than the ideal family unit. In fact, the pro was that although I was sadly unable to get to a friend's anniversary celebration I wasn't putting anyone else out. At least when I was cooking I didn't have to worry about providing for anyone else.

So really, it's just another reflection on my life - how I live it, and how it differs, or is the same, as the rest of the world.

Oh, and the fact that something really wasn't right if a cold wiped me out like this! And there was me thinking I wasn't all that tired... go self-awareness, Tigs.

Life's better by bike...

 ...and by the sea, of course. I'm not cycling much at the moment. Cycling has always been a means to an end (or more specifically, a destination) and just now my destinations are either close enough for walking or too far to be enjoyable or desireable by bike, or involving lots of hills. Often a combination of the aforementioned. So by strange providence (the foibles of Sunday morning trains) it was that I found myself leaving dear little Hafilax abode with Billy in tow and freewheeling down the hill to the station. Mhaaaaaarvellous.

But what I hadn't quite anticipated was how brilliant it would be to be with bicycle when I got off the train this evening into the gloaming of a threatening cloudy sky in Morecambe. It's trying to rain – I'm sitting on the prom ignoring it (and hoping my laptop does too). It's certainly grey and cloudy. But it also shows promise of the sun that's behind. And let's face it, when it's still positively light (no need for bike lights in the slightest) at nine in the evening, anything goes.

Yet again I was floored by the seascape here. The tide is about half way out, the pools of water (seawater? Rain? Both?) still lingering on the flats. My little patch of sand distinctly orange against the dark grey of the rocks, the steel blue of the sea and the lush green of the reeds and other plants which have found shelter form the tides in the “cove” that's just by my house. Above, the many greys of the clouds – from almost white to blue, dark greys, light greys and all greys in between. The muted colours of the shores of Cumbria on the other side. The red of the prom between me and the beach.

I have never understood why this seems to be such a hidden treasure in plain sight. This being the views from Morecambe out across the bay. As I sit here on a mild July evening I can see one other soul. I've had a dog walker pass and a couple out for a walk who were behind the seawall!) but overall the prom is deserted. The cars continue to go to and fro on the road behind me but this view seems forgotten by all.

It always takes my attention. Draws me in. Shows me a new view – the constantly changing sea and sky and ambience. But here I am getting distracted from bicycles...

So yes, bicycles. I think I need more bicycling in my life. Not huge amounts, but just a bit more. Perhaps I need to overcome my anti-hill stance (might help while living in a valley. Shame I can't just up sticks to Morecambe more permanently at the moment – seaside is flat!) or perhaps I just need to get clever about routes. Whichever way I look at it, I really do enjoy the feeling of the freedom of a bicycle.

But moreover I enjoy, nay adore the freedom and liberation I get from staring at Morecambe Bay. Absolutely mesmerising. Even more so when I find myself tired and my brain running on empty. The best way to enjoy something which fundamentally words cannot describe.

Today's most interesting revelation about the bay, however, is about my enjoyment of it. Somehow I can sit here and drink it in for so much longer when my company is but my own. I love sharing this view with friends but somehow feel there then has to be something to Do. Be it a coffee or a cocktail, I somehow find myself pulled away from the simplicity of sitting gazing at the sea. Why that would be escapes me somehow. Possibly my own insecurities about “entertaining” friends when they come to visit. Perhaps they simply won't enjoy gazing at the sea. A misplaced view of what other people enjoy? Or something else entirely. I don't know. But an interesting one to mull on.

Another world on my doorstep

The sea. The shore. The sand and the beach. And in particular, tonight, the shoreline. It was only as I was walking back on to the prom and the shore in Morecambe this evening that I realised how far away I'd just been - and yet I'd not been out of sight of all the hustle and bustle.

About 30 hours late, the sun had put in a glorious appearance at about 6pm this evening and I decided to go out to the beach to enjoy it, read some National Geographic and put my notebook in order. I was just in the process of completing all of the above when it started to rain. It was raining in that way which sometimes turns into a downpour and sometimes passes but I wasn't entirely sure which way it was going to go. Given I had lots of paper out (relatively) I decided to finish up and pack it all into my bag. I then realised I really wasn't fussed by the rain when it was just me getting wet (rather than bits of paper getting soggy) so thought I'd walk around to the other side of my "sticky out bit" before heading for home.

Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. The tide was already sufficiently high that getting around the headland was going to involve serious wading and I've too much respect for the sea to try my hand at that. So instead I turned along the shoreline the other way and started following the edge of the tide as it came in. Walking along I was just gazing at the water and the things in it. And my, were there a lot of crabs and jelly fishies. The crabs were mainly blanched and very dead (but it just seemed surprising how many there seemed to be) and the jelly fishies weren't looking too healthy either although I did see a couple of little ones that seemed the right side of the grave. I ended up walking the length of that particular "cove" of the Morecambe front (it's not a cove, but I'm not sure how to describe it otherwise - a wide expanse of Morecambe bay shore bounded by two groynes is what it is practically), all the way along the shoreline and ventured almost to the rocks under the stone jetty except that the water seemed to have developed a rather unenticing scum (oil from boats? Some other sort of pollution?) and I decided to curtail about 30 metres from the rocks. And wander back.

It was delightful. Seeing the sky. Seeing the sea. Feeling the sand under my feet and the water on my legs. Seeing beasties. Seeing seaweed. Just wandering. As I reached my "starting point" (my actual starting point was somewhere between 10 and 20 metres further into the waves) I popped my flipflops on in an attempt not to get sand all over my feet. Slipping around in my flipflops slowed me down again which was good (always good to take the slow option when possible) and I meandered back, still in somewhat of a sea-and-sand induced trance.

I'd popped some paper and a can into the recycling bins and was just coming round past the Breeze Cafe when I realised just how far away I'd gone. I passed a guy who just had a look of ambivalence - and realised that the "normal world" was beginning to hit me again. The cars. The noise. The concrete. The worries. The everyday.

I'm slowly beginning to understand and be able to explain what it is I love about Morecambe and today's expedition to the great beyond on my doorstep (I was no further than 1 mile from my front door throughout my meander, and mostly much less) somehow brought a whole host of it together. Morecambe for me is about the simple things. Good food. Space. Sea. Sky. Reflection.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

It took me nigh on 48 hours to get my feet on the beach this weekend. Quite how that happened I have no idea but that was the reality! I've spent a lovely couple of days preparing for and hosting friends - none of whom knew each other before, some of whom had worked for the same company and all of whom just settled into spending time with each other. There was cake. There was bowling. There was quiche (no one else was convinced but I was quite taken! This was vegan quiche, of course). There was curry. There were cocktails. There was tea (lots of tea). And there were many many good times had. Lovely to spend time with each of them and lovely to see them enjoying getting to know each other.  

I'm really lucky in that I can stop what I'm doing and go for a "beach break". I don't need to plan a whole afternoon, nor even a whole day, at the beach. I can just pick up my blanket (or wide scarf), my keys and a book and I'm there. Brilliant. And now that I'm learning to do that when the mood takes me (and, indeed, head back to Tigger Towers when the time feels right) I get to spend a lot more time on the beach at the right time. Lucky lucky me :)

And today's idea for the day is to create Tigger's Morecambe Chronicles. Not really chronicles, but "The Morecambe Chronicles" just sounded ace. I love showing people bits and pieces of Morecambe. I love discovered new bits. I love learning more about the place and getting to share that at various moments. I also love the idea of friends coming up to stay for a weekend or so, possibly even when I'm not around, and having a few pages of interesting notes on what's around, interesting places to investigate and maybe even comments from previous visitors who've all added to the chronicles. A project in the making...

Nettle overload

After yesterday's exploits I found myself with a lot of nettles. A LOT of nettles. As in picked and slowly losing their nettley joy (although not their sting, as it turns out). Having had nettle soup, nettles with pasta, nettles in my Sunday morning fry up, made some veg stock with nettles and started preparing the nettle-plant-food-concoction I decided I may be overdoing it on the nettles.

The big sign was that I was sick of the smell of them. Not a good sign for food which is supposed to be scrumptious and brilliant.

So the remainder of yesterday's "crop" (which was particularly prolific as I was clearing a whole chunk of nettles that were in my way - along with goose grass and some dandelions - rather than just picking some to munch on) has not been torn apart and put in the nettle-plant-food-concoction and banished outside. Apparently I'm looking at a 3-4 week festering period before my plant food will be ready for use (with a peg on my nose, by all accounts) but for now I'm having at least 24 hours sans nettles.

Nettles, I love you. You're my newest addition to the joys of my ingredients cupboard. And you live outside in my yard so are easily accessible next time the urge takes me. But for now, you just keep on growing...

What's been particularly fascinating is I'm now obsessive about using my mildly-grey water (been used for washing up but little else). I haven't got a collecting bucket yet as I'm fairly certain I've got a spare in Morecambe so I've been using my blender jug to ferry it out to my little raised bed in the yard but I'm now getting shocked by just how much water is used, even on my relatively water-friendly washing up. As well as getting excited about mulching possibilities for said little raised bed. This is so exciting!

The pot-garden on my living room window is also doing well: the first coriander shoot is up, the spinach is going good guns, the parsley which has somehow just about survived many moons is showing a bit more life and the sandy-pots are just ruminating as to whether they have enough joy to grow little plants or not. Yay growing stuff :)

The Unexpected Garden

Now, I was always a fan of the secret garden as a child and although that was pretty cool, the reality is that I've just discovered I have an unexpected garden and not only that, an unexpected garden that has just provided me with lunch!

I've been wanting to have a garden or some land to tend to for ages - but it wasn't quite happening. When I moved to Halifax I knew there was some space at the back of the block but wasn't sure how to get to it - that said, I thought I might plant up some pots in my little outside space which is where the stairs to my front door are. As it turns out, those little plantings are now going good guns (the mint is a particular favourite - still fairly small but, brilliantly, means I can have minty hot sweet cocoa. Brilliant!) but even more exciting is that I contacted the other flat owners in the block about maybe doing some planting in the yard behind the house (which turns out to have a fair amount of space) - and they said yes!

This all happened about 2 weeks ago when I decided it would be a brilliant way to get some growing going and get some outside time which didn't involve sitting in a park reading (or sleeping). I knew this was going to be the next weekend I'd really get a chance to get stuck in and it's all worked out perfectly. When I first moved in there was a lot of waste lurking in the yard, plus a skip which was already full but there was no indication it was going to get moved. I'd been clearing the yard by filling up the wheelie bins the council collects periodically and had managed to get the skip collected, but there were still some bits that simply wouldn't fit in the wheelie bin (including a tall fridge/freezer and cooker). I'd been in touch with the council as there was some more general waste that seemed to be accumulating out the back of the bar next door - and today I discovered that someone (the council, someone else, who knows) had been and taken away the big bits! It's still a bit scruffy round the edges but at least it's no longer filled with rubbish.

So, I'd been out and bought a gardening fork with the idea that I'd just turn the soil and get some planting going. Hmm. Nice theory. Immediately outside the back door are some flag stones which peter out very quickly. On starting to dig I discovered that, at some point in the past, it seems there may have been a whole heap of little stones put down, like you get on driveways etc. Boo. Turning the soil wasn't much of an option but I was getting some traction so I pressed ahead. I'd thought already that the way to make sure any plantings didn't just get trodden over would be to create a raised bed. Whether I'd clocked it before or not I don't know, but I found a few old breeze blocks and by the time I was finished, I'd cleared and dug and put out breeze blocks such that I've now got a composter (which is rather full with random plants I dug up, and was made from an up-turned plastic bin - the bin had been in my little "outside the front door" bit but didn't have a lid so this was a perfect use for it), the wheelie bins for the flats are against one wall, I've created a little raised bed (prob about 2 - 3 metres by about 80cm), I've planted a tomato plant I had, two strawberry plants I picked up today and a bunch of seeds including thyme, courgette, spring onions and broccoli (normal and purple sprouting).

Now, I've also finally got round to  reading about permaculture and was a little reticent simply to pull up all the plants ("weeds") that were already there given some of them may have uses but I decided simply to go with what I know in terms of gardening as a starting point, continuing my permaculture studies while my seedlings get going. The strawberries and thyme will, hopefully, be perennial and I'll be investigating the remaining weeds (for there's still plenty of space left to be cultivated!) in due course. Not sure how the seeds will do as the soil really is quite poor - but I'll keep an eye on them and do what I can to encourage them. Including getting some garden soil if needs be. I've also done a bit of experimental potting on my living room window ledge with the sandy soil that seems to have accumulated under my steps - if it works, ace. If not - c'est la vie!

But, even better, I've known for ages that nettles are edible and I'd decided I was going to give "cooking with nettles" a go. And there were plenty of nettles to get going with - indeed, there are still plenty of nettles out there. I've got a pot of them now awaiting further culinary delights as I was a little over enthusiastic with the amount I'd need for the soup I was planning. It ended up being red lentil, potato and nettle soup - and was surprisingly tasty! Why buy spinach in plastic from the supermarket when there are nettles growing outside?! (And, indeed, when with any luck there'll be spinach growing on my window ledge in the near future).

I'm feeling pleased. Very pleased. Even if I do have that tingly sensation of having been nettle-stung a bit ;)

Discovering Halifax

 Halifax is a fascinating beast – and my relationship with it seems to expand every time I actually spend more than a fleeting couple of hours here. Which is less often than you'd think, given I live hear (but more often than you might expect if you know me).

My route between home and train station (often via a supermarket) was already of interest. Discovering how many different shops there were, serving pretty much all I would ever really need from shops. Working out when I could get to the library. Assessing when I wanted to trek across town for food or when I just wanted to pop into the central shop. But it's all a bit towny. Not much greenery or open space.

I discovered the Halifax Playhouse – I've already had a bit of a play on the stage and am looking forward to getting more of a feel for the team of volunteers who keep it open and running over the next few weeks and months.

And I started discovering the open spaces – the People's Park is up the road from me, the old hall on the corner of my road which has just sold to a training company, and the fascinating shift from back to backs to large stone buildings with enclosed gardens and mature trees. Halifax seems to be an amazing patchwork of really quite different parts which somehow meld into a whole.

But in the main there's a cared for and clean feel to Halifax. Even though there are a number of empty buildings in the city centre, they are clean and generally in a good state of repair. Yes, there are exceptions but that's what they are – exceptions. Compared to, say, Morecambe, Halifax feels somehow like it's having an odd spell of not being “fully occupied” rather than having been abandoned and left to rot. My little flat with its central location was a real find – but if I'd gone slightly further from the centre I could have found myself one of those gorgeous houses (OK, maybe not the detached ones, but perhaps a terrace) with a lovely big garden and this great sense of space.

That's what it is. A sense of space. Whereas Hebden is beautiful its location in a very narrow part of the valley makes it feel enclosed, somehow trapped. And this from someone who's lived in London. But Halifax has the sense of the hills but is ON the hill. So rather than being trapped in the valley bottom there's this sense of space, and relief, and roominess. Perhaps not in the absolute town centre but it doesn't take many minutes to walk to somewhere I can find that feeling. And with a little bit more grass and a little bit less concrete I suspect it could even be introduced to the areas just outside the centre very easily.

Leaving my flat this morning I was reflecting on the comparison of the sublime simplicity of Halifax (simple flat, simple furniture, simple kitchen, sewing machine, done) and the slightly ridiculous nature of Morecambe (rooms and rooms and rooms and rooms with stuff and stuff and stuff and stuff). And realising that I do have a desire for space and space and space and I thought Morecambe would offer that. And it does – in a way. But that the long term dream of the rooms AND the space are just that – longer term. Not in a defeatist way. But in a being happy where I am and really enjoying building the picture of that fabulous place of space for the future. Having a reason to be doing what I'm doing – as laying the foundations for that future. Recognising all the experiences that have led to now – good and bad. Valuing the now. Valuing the dreaming.

And particularly – enjoying the space and the sun.