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Living on the Edge; The Christmas Crisis…

Hello Everybody. It’s the shortest day with the mostest to do but let’s stop for a quick mince pie and a small glass of sherry. I wanted to thank you for your support this year. For all the likes, the shares, the purchases and words of encouragement you have sent, the Little Houses and I thank you from the bottom of our hearths and heart. We wish you the happiest of Christmases. We’ll be back in the New Year…

But for now, I’m afraid the shenanigans haven’t abated…

Living on the Edge; The Christmas Crisis…

“This is Ho Ho hopeless!” huffed Sandy. Heavily, he leaned back on the sack he’d been dragging.

“How am I going to make and deliver gifts to every single house in the world before dawn? At this rate I’m not going to make it to the end of the road!” Scarlet and Ruby looked on from the edge of the pavement…

When Santa Claus had announced his retirement, Sandy had immediately and excitedly applied for the position. The notion that he might be over estimating his abilities never crossed his mind; that wasn’t his way. And then, much to everyone’s surprise, he was offered the job…

Since his appointment in February, Sandy had been making lists, presents and pawing over maps for months, whilst flouncing around in his red, fur lined hat – even in July. But no matter how late into the night he toiled or how early he began, this Christmas simply wasn’t going to be ready on time.

The flaw, and it was a sizeable flaw, was that when the job description had mentioned the need for magical powers, Sandy had ignored this, somewhat essential skill, believing he could pick it up as he went. His motto had always been ‘Say yes to everything then fake it til you make it’

To the question “Do you possess a clean sleigh driving licence?” he’d answered “Yes.” Completely glossing over the sleigh bit… How difficult could it be, he’d thought. Now, with Christmas Day creeping over the horizon, Sandy was beginning to realise that no amount of faking it would help him convince the world that he was the real deal…

In a nutcracker shell Sandy had lied, stretching the truth so thin that now, possibly too late in the day to do much about it, Christmas was coming apart at the seams… xxx

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Living on the Edge 216; Underneath the Arches…

Good afternoon, Everybody, are you fine? Do come in and have a seat. There’s tea, coffee, mincey pies and Trude’s, awe inspiring, brownies. You simply must try one…

This week I put the tree up. So, let’s sit next to her and inhale her piney perfume while we listen to the next instalment of the Little Houses saga…

Living on the Edge 216; Underneath the Arches…

This is an odd tale. Boyce didn’t share it very often as it tended to make folk uneasy. Although they tried not to make it obvious, he noticed them slowly edge away from him as he unwrapped his story to them.

I’m going to tell you, not because I want to spread rumours or because I think Boyce is strange but, because I think you will understand and find it illuminating.

Once upon a time, a great hurried steam train rushed overhead and through the countryside many times a day; juddering the residents of the tiny villages and connecting them to all the elsewheres, great and small, across the land. This was long before the fall of the railways though.

Nowadays, a handful of large dwellings resided underneath the arches of the ruined viaduct. They weren’t what Boyce called friends. They were very busy buildings, always otherwise occupied with some bustle or other. Boyce had tried to befriend them but found them rather self-important, cold and hoity- toity so he’d given up.

Their loss, thought Boyce, and he comforted himself with the thought that, when he did finally find a friend, he had something fabulous to share with them. He knew a secret… A marvellous secret…

You see, if you climb to the top of the viaduct at twilight on a Tuesday, you can board a train that will spirit you away. Yes, that’s right, completely away, away. It could be anywhere… A present-day place, a distant place in another time, you can never tell where you will find yourself. But it didn’t matter because, wherever and whenever, it was always wonderful and Boyce arrived home happy with greater insight into why things are as they are… xxx

Amongst a gaggle of others, this piece is currently hanging out with the glorious Byard Art xxx

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Living on the Edge 215; Giving Up the Ghost…

Good morning Everybody! Welcome to December. I, for one, am excited about the coming of Christmas. You see, last Christmas I went down with Covid and missed the entire thing; no decorations, no tree, no sparkle. If it hadn’t been for Trudy and Bunty Withers there wouldn’t even have been any food. I heartily thank them once more for bringing yuletide quarantine cheer to the back door.

Today, in preparation for the season, I am dressed as Mary Christmas; I have warmed some mincey pies and there is chocolate soup to galore. Come and have a seat at the table whilst we listen to the woes of a certain someone who is not yet feeling Christmasy…

Living on the Edge 215; Giving Up the Ghost…

Time had not been kind to Helena. She stood at the summit of Three Sisters Crag. I say stood, but clung is nearer the truth. The years of defiantly battling with the weather had taken their toll; she was bruised, cracked and battered. And, at such an altitude, no one had the energy to visit, so, she had no reason to think about her appearance. Why bother? she asked herself. To all intents and purposes Helena was a hermit.

And anyway, most folk were unaware of her existence; such was the density of the mists that played at her feet. Sometimes, even her two sisters, who lived at the foot of the crag, wondered if she was still there…

Occasionally they thought they heard her weeping echo eerily through the cloud and felt the saltwater of her tears as they trickled down the crag side. But the pair were not about to allow Helena’s lonely downfall.

They had enlisted the ever-circling rooks to airlift pots of paint, pretty curtains and a few nice plants. Today was makeover day…

This piece is currently with the wonderful Byard Art… Do visit if you’re in the environs of Cambridge… xxx

Also, I have put a few bits and bobs (don’t tell the Little Houses I’ve called them that) over in my online shop… xxx

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Living on the Edge 19; Reel Lives… Update…

Well, Good Morning Everybody! Is Everybody fine? Fine. That’s fine. As Forrest Gump’s mother, apparently, used to say; “Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get” And so it is with ‘Living on the Edge 19; Reel Lives…’

I begin by quietly choosing a few cotton reels, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over their colours, and then, the little houses start to arrive. Sometimes they are genteel souls, sometimes they are feisty and other times, well…

There’s a video here… If you have the sound on then you will be well aware that this is the noisiest bunch of reels ever to arrive on the table. And they are a crowd of fashionista divas if ever I met one…

There was non-stop drama and vying for attention behind the camera at the photoshoot. I narrowly missed sustaining a black eye such was the furore! You will be grateful for the backing track which covers the voices yelling amongst other things…

“Who do you think you are?”

“Ow! You’re treading on my ladder!” …

“I need better lights! Now! More Lights!” …

“Move over! I’m the reel star!” …

And so on… You get the picture… Let’s have some fizzy wine whilst we browse the latest Autumn/Winter 2023 catwalk collection. Do have a canape… xxx

PS… The reels are now live and kicking here and here on the beautiful Made by Hand Online. If you feel you could offer one a stable, supportive home then please do… xxx

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Living on the Edge 213; Land’s End…

Well, hello again Everybody. Sorry I missed last week; I had a short holibob in Tenby… What a beautiful place! Much inspiration to be had. And, of course, the sea. My ultimate balm, whatever the season or mood.  I came back refreshed and ready to be patient and understanding with anything the Little Houses might throw at me. Not sure how long that’ll last but the intention is there…

Now, whilst I put the kettle on, remind me, where did we get to? Oh yes… 213… a troubling tale of ridiculousness…

Living on the Edge 213; Land’s End…

“Carlton! Carlton!” yelled Mossop excitedly, “I’ve discovered the secret to eternal life!”

Carlton gave a sideways glance to Everett.

“Really? How wonderful” replied Carlton, the edge of sarcasm in his voice was completely wasted on Mossop but Everett caught it and looked skyward. How many times now, had Mossop discovered that very same secret? Lotion after potion after serum after elixir… It was definitely once a week, possibly twice, they couldn’t remember… It wasn’t really important.

What was truly pressing was that, in his search for the tonic to infinitely extend life, Mossop was mining ever more of the ground they lived on for his raw materials. Living forever was all well and good, but at what cost?… xxx

P.S. These trouble makers are currently hanging out with the glorious folks at Byard Art in Cambridge if you fancy a closer inspection… xxx

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Living on the Edge; Update…

Hello Everybody, happy November, yes, it is here already! Are you fine? A whole gaggle of Little Houses have been gathering for a few weeks in preparation for a journey and, on Tuesday, they left the building in boxes. I took them to stay with the lovely people at Byard Art in Cambridge and I can only hope they have heeded my advice about what constitutes good behaviour… Do pop in if you can.

Anyway, as a result of the exodus, the workshop was strangely quiet. That was until this lot turned up… (picture 1) They are roofless which always makes them a bit giddy. It also makes them noisy and liable to say anything… perhaps it’s because they have no lid to keep on it, no hat to keep it under, no filter you see… So take anything you might hear with a pinch of salt…

I have shared some stills with you but if you fancy flick through October’s photo album, as a farewell to the absent Little Houses, there’s a little reel just here I’ve made chocolate soup because there’s that slight chill in the air, please help yourself. I did look for some of those biscotti things but, alas, there were none to be had so we’ll make do with shortbread. Have a fabulous weekend and I shall see you very soon… xxx

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Living on the Edge 212; Block Aid…

Well, Hello Everybody! How are you? Welcome back to the table, do pull up a chair. The tea is brewing and there are some of those cow biscuits and a couple of flapjacks if you’d like. The second instalment of last week’s story is ready but first, a little recap in case you missed or, indeed, can’t remember where we were…

Previously in ‘Living on the Edge 212; Block Aid…’

Last Friday, we left our retired film stars feeling very uncomfortable. Newspapers and TV were covering, in great detail, their deepest, darkest secrets and the friends had begun to suspect one another as the traitor, wantonly feeding the gossip-hungry media. We rejoin them for part two…

No one was saying much. The whole atmosphere of Oakley Newell was thick with mistrust. I know that both Catherine and Rock have quietly, off the record, been in touch with their lawyers. And Doris has been looking at a relocation…

I was certain that the tiny community was on the brink of collapse. Dare I say I feared a mass exodus and lawsuits galore? And, once the culprit was identified, the fallout would be unquantifiable…

Gerard’s purchase and maiden flight of a drone, therefore, caused much uneasiness and only served to deepen suspicions… Thus, later that evening, it was with amazement and a strange sense of relief that the friends watched Gerard’s film footage and saw the source of their leaks…

Clinging precariously to the north face of the plateau, like a tick, was a small, thin journalist. He had managed to silently tunnel into the heart of Oakley Newell. He had carved a window into their small world. He had listened. He had taped. He had transcribed. He had sold them out.

Meryl smiled and hugged her fellow plateau dwellers. The pain caused was deep, but their revenge would be so sweet… xxx

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Living on the Edge 212; Block Aid…

Oh Yoo-Hoooo! Good afternoon, Everybody, welcome to another Friday. Is it raining with you? It certainly has been here; summer was switched off on Wednesday and Autumn quickly sashayed in turning the heating dial down as she did. Time for snuggling up in warm jumpers. Hooray! If only I was further ahead in the knitting of mine…

Anyway, I’ll walk you over to the table and we can check in with the Little Houses. Do have some tea and a slice of cake, it’s chocolate today. I am afeared that another drama is in process…

Living on the Edge 212; Block Aid… part one

High on a plateau in the middle of dense forest sat the tiny hamlet of Oakley Newell. Hardly anyone even knew it existed. It was difficult to find and very difficult to access. And that is exactly why Rock, Doris, Catherine, Meryl and Gerard had chosen to live there.

They had spent their younger days lighting up the silver screen and feeling that they were public property. And so, when they retired, they completely retreated.

They were, therefore, very distressed to learn that, somehow, their secrets were getting out. It was as if their most private conversations were being listened to, noted down and broadcast to the nation. But how? Who would do such a thing? There had never been any formal agreement but, it was an unsaid rule that, what happened in Oakley Newell stayed in Oakley Newell. Each one of them had trusted that the others were abiding by the same guideline… Until now and it was very upsetting to think they were suddenly being betrayed by one of their number… Suspicion is a contagious blight and, once it sets in, nothing is ever quite the same. Irreparable damage was looking unavoidable… 

Tune in next week for part two….

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‘Living on the Edge 208; The Things We Would Do, If Only We Knew…’

Hello, how are you feeling today? I’m feeling decidedly autumnal and golden so to celebrate, I’ve made Mrs Hilson’s apple cake with the windfalls from the garden. Do help yourself, it’s still warm. And the tea’s under the table with the cups. I had another spillage this week… Not a disastrous one but, nevertheless, tis better to be safe than sorry and all…

I’ll pour, oh wait, maybe you ought to in light of my previous comment…

Whilst you do, I’ll rattle on about a secret commission, kept under wraps until now… It has been safely delivered to the lovely recipient and so, it’s safe to tell you about it… It is a little bit different to normal in that there is no written story. The person it was made for knows her story and that is hers to tell. Which leaves us with just the title ‘Living on the Edge 208; The Things We Would Do, If Only We Knew…’

Sometimes I wonder if, in telling the story of a piece, I spoil it for the people who would like to have made up their own story. If you are one of those folks, I would love to hear your take on this one. There are no right or wrong answers, just interesting ones. Perhaps it’ll become a bit like a Chinese whisper of a piece…

There’s a small video twirl here. Have a glorious weekend and do pop by next week if you have time… xxx

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Living on the Edge 211; Between the Devil and the Deep, Blue Sea…

Hello Everybody is everybody fine? This morning our esteemed CEO, Miss Floss, and I have been to the beach for a walking meeting about the state of the nation and things I may or may not have forgotten… First on her agenda was the scarcity of duck rashers lately… it went downhill from there…

I have agreed to pull my socks up and be more attentive. We’re back home now and she’s having a quick nap. So, let’s have a cup of tea and a catch up with the Little Houses. Things are a little tense over on the table…

Living on the Edge 211; Between the Devil and the Deep, Blue Sea…

Egon and Sheila knew they were being talked about. And not just locally. They’d been in the papers and featured on the evening news. They were well aware that they were living dangerously but, asked for neither the judgement nor the approval of others. It was their choice and theirs alone.

Sometimes, when the waves were particularly fearsome, Sheila would think back to the days when the sea had been a distant neighbour. In those days it was good hour’s walk to the beach. Egon claimed that, on a clear day, he could see the sea but then, he boasted, he was considerably taller than Sheila. She remembered how excited she’d been when the land began to fall away taking with it the trees. Then she too had an ocean view…

Soon a renaming of the village became possible, from Highcliff to Highcliff-on-Sea. They held a fete and twinned themselves with Villefranche-sur-Mer. But the joy quickly turned sour as the realisation dawned that the sea was hungry for more land. Their land.

The salt air encouraged the rust to set in and the villagers moved on leaving Egon and Sheila to an entirely different kind of fate…

Sheila began to imagine the impossible. Moving. It wasn’t going to be easy persuading Egon, but she had to try. One way or another they were coming down the cliff. Besides which, surely, if she was having trouble keeping her grip, Egon would be really struggling… He was, after all, considerably taller than she… xxx