Fruitiques on Tour : Tenerife

Have Fruitique, Will Travel

As my regular readers will know I am part of a disreputable band of sisters called The Fruitiques, beading, knitting, sewing as we go. And we thought 'go' was a rather good way to ...well...go. We thought why not see where our wares actually end up geographically; how well do they travel?

Our CFO (Chief Fruitiquing Officer), N, has started us off. Here are the Fruitiques in craft if not in body or mind (we wish) in Tenerife. As N says she doesn't quite know how she got through customs with the snarfe, sunglasses and hat combo and we'll never know how she wasn't cautioned on the beach for leaving her pants about the place but a good time was had by all...enhanced of course by her Fruitique accoutrements.

You need one of Joy's snarfes (above) in 23 degree C heat! Sonya's pants purse (below)

 

If you have taken a Fruitique on Tour let me know. I need photographic evidence!!

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Rapunzel Diaries 2 : Wainhouse Tower

Wainhouse Tower, Halifax

This is my favourite tower ever I think. There is a wonderful winding staircase which winds round a central chimney. Along the way are little windows inset into the outer wall where you have to squeeze into to let people pass you going up or down. You spiral round and round, higher and higher and wonder when you'll ever see daylight. And then you are rewarded with a fabulous 360 degree vista of Halifax and the Calder Valley.

It's 272 feet or 84 m high (shame it's not 4 metres higher and I could get my '88' in), built between 1871 and 1875 and has 403 steps to the first viewing platform. It was built to serve as a chimney to the dye works owned by John Wainhouse. The chimney had to be high to comply with the Smoke Abatement Act of 1870. Mr Wainhouse wanted an elaborate chimney but sold the dyeworks to someone else in 1874 who refused to meet the cost of such a fancy chimney so Wainhouse kept it for himself as an observatory. And good for him - I'd have kept it - a tower all to myself.

I can remember climbing it in the eighties or nineties and I am sure we were allowed up to the second of the two tiers at the top. I can still remember the excitement of another level to climb and waving down to my mum way way below. I climbed it last year with my family and alas we were only allowed to the first tier, still up in the clouds.

In previous years the Tower has been open on some Bank Holidays. Well worth the effort - just check with Tourist Information in Halifax.

Handmade Histories 5 : Beaded Heart

Beaded Heart (Fruitique: Virginia)

Darling precious Grace was born in 2006. She came into the world just too early and just too poorly and she died. She was so very very beloved and so very cherished by her family. Every anniversary her Mummy, Rachel, buys a little special keepsake for Grace's memory box and for her memorial stone at their local church. The family has also planted a silver birch in memory of another special person in their lives, Nana. This wonderful tree watches over Grace. This year Rachel bought a bright beaded happy and shining heart to hang on her Nana's tree for baby Grace. Rachel then bought a companion cream heart in memory of her Nana to hang with Grace's heart: two dear and precious people in their lives remembered, always cherished.

I was feeling a little piqued that no one had responded or reacted to the stories about Fruitique purchases and then I get this very tender response at 88. I'm touched that a little recycled beaded heart can make just a teeny tiny difference. I've stopped sulking now, Rachel!

What's in a place name?

 

We have just been on our annual trip down Cambridgeshire way to three lots of friends who emigrated there from Manchester years ago. It's a three hour trip to our first port of call just below Cambridge but I know we are getting closer as the place names seem to become much posher. We pass Hemingford Abbots and Cherry Hinton. And every year I say "Oh it's such an age since we saw the Hintons - Cherry is so lovely." And of course I can't resist intending to pop in to see the Hemingford Abbots on the way back. Then we are brought back down to earth as we pass through Trumpington and have a good giggle and I request politely that we have no sound effects PLEASE. 

Back up north near 88 I've always wanted to have a good laugh in Giggleswick and then calm down in neighbouring Settle (Yorks). But David and I have always had a yen to live in Ramsbottom (Lancs), in the upper part of town of course.

Nifty tiffin

We had another day out today and took a picnic...well... more a packed lunch as a picnic suggests balmy weather and eating your sandwiches under a shining sun. It was a bit chilly today. Actually there is a history of packing up and eating outdoors whatever the weather in our family. My mum (88) used to pack a picnic WTWGP-style. My young nephew (now in his late 20s) christened them 'Whatever The Weather Grandma's Picnics' back in the eighties.

We had a new toy today. We bought a tiffin tin last week in the spirit of adventure and trying to spice up our whatever the weather picnic food. Well actually it's more a tiffin plastic than tin but lovely colours. I hate making sandwiches so I was a little more adventurous today. True I didn't go Indian curry and rice and accompaniments as I think the true tiffin tins in India are used but we had coleslaw and ribs and spring rolls and salad. It was all very delicious even if we weren't by a babbling brook with wild flower meadow but in a more down-to-earth museum indoor picnic area. Still we got some envious looks or were they just curious? Or perhaps as a good friend of mine would say "No, Virginia, they were thinking who do those smug b******s think they are? Eating ribs and rolls out of some pastel-coloured tubs!" Can't promise to keep the effort of pomposity up for the next outing but those spring rolls were lovely.

Old fashioned GPS

We don't have GPS in our car - my husband says I'm the GPS. Could stand for 'Girl Points Somewhere' - actually when I point I invariably point to the some 'where' where we are supposed to be going - I am quite good at directions. Could call it 'VPS' - 'Virginia Plots a Sightsee' - I enjoy planning a day out and getting my Ordnance Survey maps out. I rather love maps so imagine my excitement when I came across the Auto-mapic in a charity shop last year, the GPS of fifties Europe.

It's a GB road map in a plastic casing with tabs on the side. You adjust the tabs and a new section of road map appears before your eyes. As the blurb on the casing says "Safer and quicker to use than a folding map, the Auto-mapic is a permanent solution to the road map problem."

I think it dates from the 1950s and 1960s - quite early on as mine doesn't have the M1 marked on it. In fact a previous owner has felt-tipped the M1 and M6 in. It is very very splendid with lovely detailed maps with all the little towns included. There's even a rather wonderful London map showing clearly all the arterial roads and places I've heard about but never visited like Greenwich and Chiswick and Chelsea.  At a flick of the tabs you are in another part of country. GPS - pah - we now live by the Auto-mapic at 88.

My Dad's voice

My 'OK' post set me thinking about voices, about intonation, cadence and timbre. My Dad died four years ago and of all the things I miss about not having him here, it's his voice. I can hear him as I write. His voice had a wonderful timbre. It had a very distinctive quality that had nothing to do with his Yorkshire accent although the shortened vowels of the North probably enriched it. It was very very pleasant, strong and warm and easy on the ear. There was a slight hesitancy in the voice, a thoughtfulness. There was a landscape to his voice, ups and downs, valleys and hills.

It's funny how senses other than sight can evoke a person so vividly. I can also smell my Dad - specifically I can smell a particular jumper of his circa the 1970s that was a dark mustard colour, probably more French than English. I suppose I got lots of cuddles in the 70s and got to breathe in that jumper. Dad was a farmer so wasn't in his best clothes that often and I remember this V shaped thick knitted jumper that he had for best-casual.

In fact, when we cleared his wardrobe - the one that contained all his best suits and jackets and trousers and jumpers - that was the smell. The wardrobe smelled of him or did he smell of the wardrobe? I think the drawers and interior wood were made from cedar and that is the aromatic perfume that will forever evoke my dad. I wish I could have removed that fitted wardrobe with its beautiful red wooden drawers and reconstructed it in my own house at 88 but alas I couldn't. In fact, my husband bought some leather shoes last year and was supplied with some shoe trees, made from cedar wood. When he unpacked them, exposing their aroma, my dad was there in the room with me. Funny old things smells and voices.