Old Japanese Printing Technique

Hi there,

Contrary to what I've been blogging about lately (cats, hiking, books, more cats) I actually do have other interests. Unfortunately they are all sedentary ones, that is to say I sit on my butt whilst I indulge them.

Because my guitar playing isn't good enough to share, and I have no garden to show you that comes up to my standards (I rent...need I say more?), I have decided to let you in on my other secret hobby: messing around with paints and whathaveyou.

Now, intelligent pragmatic that I am, I thought to combine the two: get off my butt (read: go out into the wild as it is around my wetlands and search for interesting 'stuff') and  experimenting with paints in order to produce a Gyotaku print.
A what? Yes: Gyo = fish, taku = rub in Japanese. And so far there were no fish harmed in the process! Not that I aim to harm any fish, ever.

Today I tried my hand at rubbing two types of garden fern and some ivy. The result is...
Well, you judge.
I need A LOT of practice yet!

Viggo's Blog - I Swear That Vet Has Added 2 Balls!

Hiya fans, Viggo here.

Did you feel sorry for sweet little Bowie, when I told you he had to have an operation?
Silly you!

I know castration is said to change us toms into placid, overweight, fussy, neutered (need I go on?) so-and-so's, but I have to admit this did not work for our Bowie!
Within one day he was tearing around the place again, and getting into trouble. Business as usual!
I am SO fed up with that brat! He jumps on me all the time, he tries to eat my food as well as his own at the same time, he claims the woman's lap for his own, he is a nuisance!

The vet told my woman to keep him inside for 10 days, 'cause 'he needed the rest,in order to heal'.
WHaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Never heard such bollocks in all my life! My woman told the young woman her jaw dropped when she was told this hogwash. She's grown up in the country, you see, where pigs and horses are neutered and turned straight out into the meadow again after. Sure, she gave Bowie the antibiotics as she believes this did him some good (and he loves the stuff, silly brat!), but she took a good look between his hind paws after a day, declared the nonexistent balls healed and opened the door to the back garden. Needless to say, Bowie was out there in a flash. Thank Frith.
Now, me and the mates had a long talk about his energy levels, and we've decided that they are not normal.

AND he's growing...

Song's Best Books Club - Hollow City by Ransom Riggs

Told you I could not WAIT to get my hands on the sequel to 'Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children', so me and darling daughter took ourselves to Donner (best bookshop in the Wetlands) and splashed out on not only 'Hollow City' but 'Library of Souls' as well.
I've read 'Hollow City' in 2 days flat. Being in bed with the flu helped. Heck, I had a headache anyway, so one on top of it didn't make a blind bit of difference.
And if you scrunch up your eyelids you might just - only just - pretend that you can see two pumpkinaffes in the photo.

Jacob and Emma and their peculiar friends have fled Cairnholm and land somewhere on the coast of Wales in their determination to rescue Miss Peregrine, who cannot turn back into her peculiar self. They embark on a perilous journey to London, to try and find the last remaining free ymbryne Miss Wren, meeting up with peculiar animals, Gypsies, and exciting new peculiar children on the way. Oh, did I mention that they are continuously being chased by the evil wrights and a hollow or two?

As in the first novel, Riggs paints a haunting world, totally believable even if it contains a speaking pipe-smoking dog called Addison. Their adventures take Jacob and the other children to war-torn London in the middle of the Blitz, and for me that was the best scene in the book.

The blurb claims this sequel is even better than the first book. I beg to differ. It is equally good. The photographs though, weird and haunting as they are, this time weren't as amazing. I think that's because the newness has worn off. Riggs himself has admitted he has turned the process around; instead of writing the plot around the photographs, he searched for photographs to illustrate the plot. This is perhaps contrived.
Anyway, as in my first review of Mr Riggs' writing, I will now repeat myself:

Read this book!!!

BewarenBewaren

Song's Best Books Club - Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children

Reading has saved me, many times.
Saved you from what, exactly, you may ask.
Oh...from despair. Boredom. Family gatherings. Pain. Ignorance. And much more.

Today I am going to introduce you to one of the best books I have read in a long time.

It is a "YAL" book, but do not let that keep you from reading it when you are over 23!

We have a wonderful, huge, bookstore in Rotterdam called Donner, and going there is an outing for me and a torment at the same time, for I don't have a lot of money and I could easily buy fifty books at one go...I usually admonish myself to keep it civilized (1 book) and end up buying three.

Last time I went there one of the books I snatched up was Ransom Riggs' Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. The title alone captivated me. And then I  looked closer and saw the intriguing photograph on the cover. Was that girl...hovering?

I've always felt peculiar myself, you see. But that's beside the point. So let me tell you about this great book.

The story is about a young American adult called Jacob and his close bond with his grandfather Abe Portman. Abe is forever telling Jacob stories about his youth on Cairnholm, a magical island in the coastal waters of Wales, and Jacob first believes every word (as children do) and then when he gets older starts to suspect they are just stories as a metaphor for Abe's troubled childhood as a Jewish boy in the Second World War. 

Jacob is very troubled himself, so much so that he sees a psychiatrist, dr. Golan. After some time he feels that the only option for him is to go and visit Cairnholm himself and see if he can put Grandpa's story to rest. Closure...to use such an over-used word. He manages to convince his dysfunctional Dad to take him, and together they set off for Wales.

I will not spoil the plot for you, but take it from me that it has some pretty gruesome twists and scenes.

Not only does Jacob find out the truth about his beloved grandfather, but also about his own peculiarities and he finally comes into his own and finds friendship and perhaps even true love in the process.

The book is filled with amazing and sometimes haunting black and white photographs, which form a major addition to the story. And here's the thing: you probably have known about this book for ages, but us Wetlanders only were told of it because it has now been turned into a major motion picture...

The flap tells me there's a sequel, Hollow City.

I will have to make a trip to Donner's soon!

Read that book!

Viggo's Blog - That Young 'Un Is A Handful!

Hiya fans, Viggo here.
It's been a while...sorry about that. It is just that with young Bowie around I hardly get the time to sleep a wink, let alone write to you all.
But the woman has put him out into the garden just now ("Out with you!" she said, and I understand, as he had just put his left claw in her) so I finally have the means and opportunity.

See this? 
This was this morning at 6.30 a.m. Bowie had woken us up, as he wanted to go outside, and we took along old Gina and went to the field just around the corner from our home.
First everything was as usual.

Well, this was a week ago, but you get the picture.
But then our youngster decided he would try to walk on the duckweed of the stream (you can just about spot it behind Gina's left buttock).
Lol!
He couldn't walk on water, silly brat. He could swim though...He was out of that water in a flash!
He was so upset that he tried to climb the woman's leg, but she walked us home instead and I tried to help him get his coat back into shape.

Hahahaha, not so feisty then!
Still, he got over it pretty quickly.

How's things otherwise? Well, he is a handful. The vet has warned us to look for signs of spraying, and then it's off with his balls. And he wants to shadow box with me: but all-the-time! I cannot get my rest!

Mind you, two weeks ago he came in handy for a change. Let me tell you what happened.
I was out chilling with my mates Big Black and Mate on the pavement at night, but Bowie had stayed in with the woman. At 4.30 a.m. he woke her up by tearing up and down the stairs and screaming in her ear and using her as a trampoline, so she woke up pretty damn fast and went downstairs with him, thinking he had cramps and diarrhea and needed to get out. When she got in the living room she saw the fish tank had sprung a leak and had dumped 3/4 of the water on the parquet floor already.

Is he a clever little bugger or what?
Obviously our house was a little damp, and the woman still hasn't heard from the insurance, but all is well again and all the fish have been rescued and almost all the shrimp as well, and we have a new tank already, which we love. All those pretty colored fishies for our entertainment!

It is still a bit bare...those ornaments are expensive. But the fish are happy.
Apart from that we have settled into a routine together. We now share our meals, which is nice, and we sleep together most days. And Big Black and Mate think Bowie's rather cute and they have welcomed him into our gang. So all in all I think the brat can stay. It is up to me, you understand, I was here first!

Okay, time for my nap. Bowie is still out, so I can have some peace.

Tarah!

The Hike 18 -The Upper River Dove to Hartington

With a still smarting leg, but determined to walk the walk as it was my last day, I looked forward to rambling besides the lovely River Dove once more.

The fair weather of the day before had changed to drizzle once more, so on it was with the waterproofs again. I am the lady in red, with Angela's great hat which was just as good in keeping off the rain as it was in keeping off the sun.It was Canadian, and I want one!

We started in the highest situated village of Alstonefield, an extremely old village as it turned out, and I adore that name. They called it that, because there literally were no trees up there (there are now though). It has a pretty church, with a proper Sheela na gig over the door; you can just about spot it on the right hand side of the tower in my photo. (Too high up for my iPhone, but I'll try to find another picture for you)
Here is what my mate Wikipedia has to say on the subject:

Sheela na gigs are figurative carvings of naked women displaying an exaggerated vulva. They are architectural grotesques found on churches, castles, and other buildings, particularly in Ireland and Great Britain, sometimes together with male figures. One of the best examples may be found in the Round Tower at Rattoo, in County Kerry, Ireland. There is a replica of the round tower sheela na gig in the County Museum in Tralee town. Another well-known example may be seen at Kilpeck in Herefordshire, England.

Ireland has the greatest number of surviving sheela na gig carvings; McMahon and Roberts cite 101 examples in Ireland and 45 examples in Britain.^[1]

Such carvings are said to ward off death and evil.^[2][3] Other grotesques, such as gargoyles and hunky punks, were frequently part of church decorations all over Europe. It is commonly said that their purpose was to keep evil spirits away (see apotropaic magic). They often are positioned over doors or windows, presumably to protect these openings.

Such a lovely church. I'm a Pagan-Zennish-Something'sOutThere person (so that Sheela na gig appealed to me), but I was charmed by the interior and definitely by the attitude of the people who had put tea making things out for ramblers like us. So hospitable!

Universal values, I feel!

After some time in the graveyard (like 'em!just look at that view, it's to die for, lol) we descended to the river and the hamlet of Milldale (visited that before, but the toilets were accessible then) and now rambled upstream along the River Dove, through Mill Dale, Wolfscote Dale and Beresford Dale.

We actually crossed the Dove into Staffordshire and back again, and the hills were different. Tessa explained that it wasn't so much limestone as it was gritstone here.

Whatever the type of stone, I thought they were damn impressive.
And although we felt as if we were walking on flat ground, we were going upriver all the time, so it was what we Dutch folk call "vals plat" or "fake flat". But it didn't feel as if we were ascending, and that made it a wonderfully relaxed walk amongst the sheep, right up to the final ascent into Hartington - phew, that was a proper hill again!

Isn't this the typical English cottage? Something for my retirement (if they'll still have me after Brexit?).

I limped into the nice tea shop and reflected on a week very well spent in Derbyshire.

The nitty-gritty:
We rambled 6 miles (9.5 km) with a ascent of 1,000 feet (300 m), in drizzle and damp dryness.
Alstonefield is the winner of 'Best Village' I believe; for me it is winner of 'Most Hospitable Church'.
If the Sheela na gig has tickled your fancy, do take a look on Google pictures - there are stunning examples to be found, new fangled ones as well.
Hartington boasts two tea shops; I visited the one behind the farm products shop.

And this concludes my Derbyshire Hikes series. I hope you have enjoyed rambling with me, and will join me on new adventures in the future.

Bye!

The Hike 17 - The Cromford Canal

Errwood was fun even in the pouring rain, but inflamed my varicose veins with swelling and pain as a result...oh bother!So I decided to take it a bit easier for a day and only ramble for a couple of hours around Cromford and its famous canal.

Britain's industrial history fascinates me, as its ripples still affect us today. Us Dutchies (famous in our own right in the Golden Age but not so much in the centuries following it) kept a beady eye on our island neighbours, and were quick to import, copy and emulate the British inventions. The fact that I am an independent working woman is (to my eyes) a direct result of women starting work in the factories, then starting the suffragette movement and paving the way for feminism.

The rambler's bus dropped me off in Cromford on its way to Crich, where their walk started. They then proceeded into the Derwent Valley, whilst I made a beeline for Cromford's famous Scarthin Book Shop, to while away a very pleasurable hour in one of their armchairs reading a book about the rise and fall of BIBA. (Oh! BIBA! Those were the days!)

Do visit this shop if you have the chance, the number of books is staggering and the premises are worth it.
When I had finished my lukewarm espresso (sacrilege- pity)I ambled towards the Cromford Canal and Arkwright's Mill.
A Wetlander myself, canals are in my blood. It is always a pleasure to find one so tranquil as the Cromford Canal, with its ducks and swans and lovely towpath, and limestone walls and numerous wildflowers. And that typical Britishness of wooden benches in remembrance of people who loved walking that same towpath. Very handy they were!

We used to have these...they are called "trekschuit" in Dutch and they have almost vanished. We do not have this tradition of keeping up our heritage, unfortunately. We now have "fluisterboten" (whispering boats) which are practically the same thing, but painted a practical boring grey or green and with a noise-reduced motor and no character whatsoever. Such a pity!

Walking up to the first railway shunting stop along the canal took me an hour, and I didn't dare walk for longer, as my left leg started to smart again. I made use of a bench to rest and eat my packed lunch (and very nice it was), and watch the other walkers along the towpath. Quite a few boys and men asked me if I "had found some", meaning Pokémon...Oh dear, yet another fad that is passing me by...

No, didn't look for any Pokémon, but I did spot these tongue ferns. Do you know my local garden centre asks €15,00 for one of these? And here they grow on walls...

After an hours rest I slowly walked back to Cromford and a well-earned Old Mout Cider* (*pronounced incorrectly since 1947!Well I never) in the canal café, before buying the most amazing tasting cheese in the cheese shop: whisky-and-ginger-Wenslydale. Wow! Wish I could have taken a huge cheese instead of the tiny one that would fit into my suitcase.
And then I had to wait for the rambler's bus to pick me up again, so I took a look at Arkwright's Mill. 
All in all not a very spectacular rambling day, but a pleasurable one all the same.

The nitty-gritty:
The proper walk lasted 6 miles (9.5 km) with an ascent of 800 feet (240 m) - mine lasted 2 hours with a stop of an hour to rest the leg. It was sunny, 22 degrees.
Beware of wasps, there were many about.
You can find Scarthin Book Shop a little way past the Post Office (sorry, forgot to take note of the street name)and the cheese shop is next to the café at the start/finish of the Cromford Canal. Arkwright's Mill is signposted very well.