Sole Searching

A rare free Saturday.

Time to start reclaiming the spare room... Argh!

Spring cleaning had begun the previous week when I tackled and conquered the bookcases and craft mountain in the study. Disposing of several bags of recycling/rubbish in the process.

Today I began with the chaotic bookcases.

"Shouldn't take long" I announced 

"They should be sorted in about an hour..."

Except they do not just hold books, 

but also serve as a repository for a million craft items. 

The books themselves are so jumbled up 

that I find it difficult to even know where to begin to locate any volume when it is required.

There was only one way to tackle the problem. 

Remove everything from the shelves and return it in a much more logical order

 - resources on one shelf, 

 - prayer books on another. 

Theology, Adrain Plass and general fiction was relegated to the study. 

This made way for some of the more regularly required craft supplies to be relocated to the spare room.

At times in the proceedings ink pads liberated themselves from the shelves, as if fired from a catapult. I noted that 50% of the time the lids stayed on and half the time they parted company. 

I stepped over one open ink pad several times, 

making a mental note to pick it up BEFORE I trod on it. 

I continued to move things around, 

Genesis 22:17

using the window cill as temporary storage. 

Then I noticed the floor...

inky footprints from my slipper!

Argh! I had done that which I had vowed not to do 

and trodden on that open ink pad...

Unfortunately I was unable to take a photo of the ensuing pattern, 

as, at this point, I had misplaced my phone in the chaos. 

I later found it hidden in a pile of books...

Having put the lid back on the ink pad 

and removed it from the danger zone,

I quickly removed my slippers 

and went to get the last wipe 

and cleaned the ink from the floor. 

As  I sat contemplating the pattern on the sole of my slipper, whilst removing all traces of the ink

I wondered why I had never considered using this as a background stamp for Christmas cards

...or as an illustration for the story of Abraham...

One of the blessings of spring cleaning is the gems you uncover, that you have completely forgotten about - like this drawing by the KHT

Meanwhile DH caught the spring cleaning bug, and decided to move half the furniture in the study around and hoovered the carpet. Miracles are a pleasant surprise...

Several hours later and I have reached the point of lets shove it all back in somewhere... which rather defeats the object of the exercise, but there is a limit to how much tidying a chaotic person like myself can take!

Who Do You Think I Am?

I do not know how old my grandfather was when he left home.
In the part of Leicestershire where he was born and lived, most of the males worked in the mine - a job for life and death.
After leaving school at 14, Walter didn't want to go underground, but strruggled to find alternative work locally.
He departed for the industrial West Midlands, met my grandmother and the rest, as they say, is history...

On family visits to my Grandparent's house, the conversation between my Mum and her parents was littered with references to relatives I had never met - Aunt Fanny, Aunt Nell, Aunt Teapot Lid (Lydia) and Cousin Barbara. These were the closer blood relatives on my Grandmothers side. In the shadows lurked husbands and children, but I never really worked out who was married to whom or remembered what their names were.

My grandfather had another army of relatives - solid working class non-conformists residing in the East Midlands. I knew little about his side of the family - other than he was one of four and had a brother (Fred - who lived in Derby and drove trains) and two sisters - one called Violet and the other's name I have long forgotten. I am hoping it was Primrose...

My mum often talked about her family visits to Coalville. Shortly after the outbreak of the Second World War, when all the talk was of evacuation, she spent some months living in there with her Grandmother and younger brother. However they didn't settle and despite the dangers of living in Birmingham they soon returned to spend the remainder of the war in the city.

I had never been to Coalville, so on a January day we set off to discover what was there.

Entering the town we passed the wheels of the colliery at Snibston, and the site of the Discovery Centre - now sadly demolished.

To park the car we drove down some narrow streets of small terraced houses. I remember thinking - I wonder if my granddad walked down this road, and then realised that if he had done so it would have been about a 100 years ago!






At the centre of Coalville is a large tower, part of the war memorial - a tall art deco styled building that dominates the skyline.










In the main street many shops are boarded up. Much of the town' retail business is carried out in the adjacent Belvoir Centre Shopping Precinct, which houses the usual low end stores found in any small working-class town - Wilkinsons, Home Bargains, Poundland, and Argos, to name a few.

As High Street shopping declines, units are either left empty or filled by charity shops.  Some local retail business have survived and hopefully thrived.







We noted this interesting window display, but did not venture inside...

Behind the disused colliery at Snibston on the edge of the town, we observed parkland, but did not have time to explore it on this occasion.








Coalville is a typical post-industrial working class town.
It has survived the decline of the mining industry, which gave the town its name,
employment to generations
and drove my Granddad away to Birmingham, which became a smoke-free zone....
I would like to think that this was in his honour,
but I suspect it was more to do with the welfare of the many residents of the city.
I do remember that my grandparents were limited in that fuel they could burn on the open fire in their home and thinking that the coke they burned was a poor relation to the shiny black coal we used in our fireplace.

As we were leaving the area we encountered an M&S Food on the edge of Ashby-de-la-Zouch.
"Do you want to pop in and see if they have any soup?" enquired by fellow traveller.
We did and I was able to  purchase nine tins to stock up my cupboard.
Maybe the trail hasn't gone cold after all!

When the trail goes cold...

Walking home with my daughter I was surprised to hear her say
"Look over there! Snowdrops!"
I looked and sure enough a white carpet was clearly discernable on the verge on the far side of the road.

The next day I wanted to go to the large M & S in the nearest city, as ours sadly closed eighteen months ago.
I am rather partial to their Cream of Chicken soup and had consumed my stock and was making do with Baxters, which is a poor substitute.
"Let us go via Beoley church, and see if the snowdrops are out there, and then go on to M & S." 
I suggested.

The morning had been sunny and bright, but as the day progressed, so had the cloud cover.
We noted a distict chill as we got out of the car.




Wandering around the graveyard, bulbs were beginning to make an appearance, but only a few buds were visible. The thermometre may indicated that the temperature was seven degrees centigrade, but the wind chill factor was notable.
DH made a rapid retreat to the relative warmth of the car





We continued our way, taking the scenic route, avoiding the narrow, and bumpy Roman road, even though it tempted us by offering a marginally shorter route.
In M & S Food Department DH glumly perused the lists of ingerdients on various food items, before discounting them on the basis that they contained something that would irritate him.
His only purchase was some fish cakes, and we will wait and see if they are amenable to his digestive system.

So engrossed was I in browsing for reduced items, that I nearly forgot the very items we had come for!
I had to limit my purchases,
as the fridge is still full of our post New year Turkey carcass and the freezer is full of previous purchases/produce from the allotment that we have yet to eat...

The Cream of Chicken Soup was located on the bottom shelf near the back of the store.
I picked up the only one visible. It wasn't looking promising...
"Do you have any more Cream of Chicken Soup?" I enquired of a member of staff, who was conveniently replenishing stock right next to where I was.
She immediately dropped to her knees
and after a couple of minutes searching,
hooked out a couple of tins from the very back of the shelf.
At 50p a tin it was cheaper than some of their other soups.
"Does that mean it is about to be deleted?" I enquired sadly.
The assistant could give no assurances.
I fear the worst, as there was only one tin in a different store, when a friend of mine who being aware of my partiality for this particular concoction, tried to replenish my store.
It looks like my days of consuming M & S Cream of Chicken Soup may be nearly over.

As we neared home, we passed the spot where we had first seen the snowdrops.
"Rather odd that they should be out there, and not anywhere else..." I mused...
"Unless of course it was just paper that was shredded when they mowed the grass..."
The KHT gave the verge a thorough inspection from her vantage point in the back of the car.
"You are right!" she announced emphatically, "It isn't snowdrops at all - just shredded paper!"

It looks like spring is still some way off, which is a bit of a relief. 
We really need some winter first to kill off the nasties in the garden.