New blog!

Hi there,

Three Bags Full now has its very own blog at:

Threebagsfullwoolshop.blogspot.com

Bit of a mouthful, eh? Anyway, if you're a yarn-lover - or even if you're not - it would be great to see you there.

Getting going...

Well, I'll have a couple of hours unexpected leisure time this afternoon and, with a choice of ways to fill it, what I'm favouring at the moment is a first attempt at setting up a website for the shop. My friend is very kindly hosting a page for us over at partythings2go.co.uk (thanks, Lorraine!) but I'm trying to limit the items on there to those which tie in with partythings stock - so far I've managed pom pom maker kits, but there's more to come! (I put the pom pom maker kits together myself and felt pathetically proud when I sold a couple yesterday morning...)

Weaving kits anyone? French knitting? Hmmm, what else can we do...?

Am turning into a real yarn freak. Am now convinced there's more to colour therapy than meets the eye. Have just ordered some of this:How gorgeous is that? Doesn't it lighten your mood just looking at it?

Now you can find us!

This is our new Three Bags Full sign, up on colonnade level and clearly visible from the courtyard. Mike took the original photo of the lamb (thanks, Mike!). More on his great photos later, but in the meantime...

Next Saturday we're having the official Three Bags Full opening...yes, I know we've been open since the 5th, but it was all a bit of a low key rush. Low key's good for me, but rushed less so. So next Saturday (26th) we'll be having nibbles and soft drinks, great offers and we'll just be really pleased to see anyone who wants to buy, browse, or just pop in and say hi. And if you fill in the short survey you get the chance to enter the draw for £15 of TBF gift vouchers.

Really must get that other blog started; have been hi-jacking Honeysuckle's webspace long enough...

Three Bags Full

OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Falling behind here - the new blog and the website are both on hold till I get my snazzy new laptop and dongle so I can work online in the shop...

Yes, I now have a shop!! We're open - yay!! Come visit us Tues to Saturday at the Piece Hall (Unit 3). We have some lovely yarns - Debbie Bliss, Mirasol, Artesano and many more. Or, if you don't knit, we have some little gifty type things - with lots more still to come - and gorgeous buttons, handmade cards and gift tags. I'm also selling my niece's canvas shoulder bags, which are sold purely in aid of her fundraising project aimed at supporting cancer charities.

But it's also lovely when people just to call in and say hello. So please do!

Nearly there, kind of

Signing for the premises this morning, so have slept about two hours tops, and each time I woke I had buttons, yarn and needles running through my dreams. If I get the keys today the pace will increase dramatically. Or as dramatically as possible with me at the helm. Still have no yarn, altho' I'm set up to order some once the banks sort themselves out. Why does it take four days for a telephone transfer of funds to clear? They could send a member of staff across town with the cash in his back pocket quicker than that.

To have a cash till or not to have a cash till? That is the question. If I don't have a cash till, am I telling the cosmos I'm not expecting to get many sales? If I do have one, does that introduce too much an aspect of financial motivation into my little woodentops world? So many decisions; so little brain power.

Lambs, chickens, eggs...

I have a lamb. Sadly, not real, but lifesize and very pretty nevertheless. She stands in front of the television at present exuding benign vibes - the sort of smiley lamb you can't pass without wanting to stroke. We've also amassed a once scruffy (and therefore very cheap) oak trolley that I've Nitromor'd, waxed and buffed back to beauty, and various disparate items that might or might not look good in a small shop aiming for the Scandinavia meets English country cottage look. I've bought my spotty bunting from dotcomgiftshop and my baskets. I'm on course.

Amongst various disasters of the not-knowing-what-I'm-doing variety last week, whilst on a jaunt seeking out said items, I managed to embarrass myself in the local joiner's shop. This isn't any old joiner's shop; this is two floors of old England, reclaimed pine at its finest, rustic cupboards, wardrobes, thick-topped tables, children's school desks complete with inkwells and childish carvings, old trunks. I love it. We bought a few baskets, a towel rail, a chair. Not unique things, but not mass-produced modern, either. So I think the owner was a bit surprised when he asked for payment and I tried to fit my Ikea Family card into his machine. I love Ikea, but his look was one of amused disgust. Ah well, room for all sorts. Next week I'm going back to ask him to make me some shelves and, just in case, I'm leaving the Ikea card at home.

What I don't have yet is yarn. A nice man's coming to see me on Tuesday morning about that and what he'll say is something about needing proof I'm a bona fide trader. I think. And I don't have any proof because the tax office moves very slowly. They actually say you shouldn't register as self employed until you're trading, but if you want to buy wholesale, you can't start trading till you're registered. Chickens. Eggs.

A change isn't as good as a rest, but can be more interesting

Well, I haven't been here for so long, maybe no one drops by anymore...

Lots has changed in the last few months: I was made redundant for a start! I don't quite understand why the first job I've really felt was worthwhile should also be the one which has its funding stopped and from which I'm made redundant. That's life, eh? And, of course, as it had been relatively short-term employment, there was no redundancy payment and I don't get Jobseekers' Allowance. Hmmm, good job I'm not one to complain.

But, I have a new scheme. I'm opening a wool shop. Well, all being well, I am. I'm not counting any chickens because counted chickens are so inclined to bite you on the bum. But, that's my plan. I've been to my silver entrepreneurs workshops, I've registered as self-employed, I've contacted people about property to rent, I'm opening a business bank account and when the final pieces slot into place, I'm away.

How exciting is that? Well, it's fairly exciting for me. Actually, it's terrifying.

Whoops...almost forgot to mention: new blog coming soon, I hope, with lots of lovely close ups of lambs and rainbow-coloured hanks of gorgeous yarns and...well, I'll try to make it nice...

Phew, wish me luck!

The sensitive, the considerate and the plucky

There's a famous quote, an excerpt from a longer piece by E M Forster, that goes:

I believe in an aristocracy of the sensitive, the considerate and the plucky. Its members are to be found in all nations and classes, and all through the ages, and there is a secret understanding when they meet.

I thought about this when I was watching Nick Griffin on Question Time, because I know I'd sooner have a member of that over-arching aristocracy - someone sensitive, considerate and plucky - living next door to me, whether their skin's black or white, whether they're old, young, gay, straight, disabled or non-disabled, than I would a home-grown thug.

Is there a newspaper that just tells it as it is?

I've always been willing to admit (with a sizeable dollop of embarrassment) to being a Daily Mail reader. Daily Mail during the week: Guardian on Saturdays - we like to be even-handed. And while the Mail irks me with its over-the-top, right wing paranoia, the Guardian irks me with - well, it just irks me. Everything about it shrieks going-to-hell-in-a-handcart champagne socialism. It's a pity that both papers have readable bits that I quite enjoy. And they're familiar, y'know? I can easily find the bits I like.

But now, maybe the Mail has crossed the line. I coped with them printing a story on 'Down syndrome' rather than Down's because, apparently, 'the writer's Australian and insisted' (writers don't insist on things - they say: 'Gosh, do you mean it? You'll really publish it? Thanks!'); I've coped with very many articles on how women's bodies have changed over the last three decades; with articles on this or that woman who gave up her high-flying job to look after her children and how much happier she is as a result; on sisters who are different from each other in some way(without ever working out why I should care); on Kerry Katona, who the Mail thinks should stay out of the limelight but whom they photograph every time she changes her cardigan; and I've coped over and over with features on people who have rejected their disabled child at birth only to discover an upswell of devotion to said child three, six or twelve months later...I've coped with all that, and even with the pieces recently on a new kind of iron and the Lakeland catalogue, for pity's sake. I've read enough serialisation announcements with the words 'searingly honest', 'coruscating', 'hilarious' and 'brilliant' in them to last me a lifetime. But, in and amongst all this drivel, I quite like some bits, even some that I suspect are near-fiction. And I like Liz Jones, mainly because she's such a weirdo and, I feel, a kindred spirit.

But, y'know, while I can deal with all that other DM rubbish, there really wasn't any need for that nasty piece on Stephen Gateley. I wasn't a Boyzone fan and I don't feel all holier than thou about it, but what sort of paper publishes something that nasty about someone just after they've died? It wasn't necessary. It wasn't kind.

So, I'm looking for a new read. But what is there? The Independent? - looks a bit big. It'd be like navigating the streets of Bristol when I'm used to finding my way round Dewsbury. The Times? - I don't think so. Is there anything out there that just offers a non-biased, non-sallacious, non-judgmental view of what's happening?

No, I didn't think so.

Exit, pursued by a ...

This was going to be a jolly post (yes, it was, really!). I was going to describe our pathetic attempts at jiving (probaby best I don't tho') and how we arrived home on Tuesday to find Sweetie Pie had all but broken her foot when a scary spider chased her out of the living room. In her terror, she ran straight into the open door. Ouch. After a mere two hours in A & E, she was told it was 'just' a sprain and strapped up, and she hobbled off to school as usual in the morning. Well actually, I don't suppose that is that jolly, is it? Sweetie didn't think it a laughing matter - well, not until after she'd had a couple of painkillers anyway.

I was going to tell you about that, but then I spotted the info on the Brit Writing Awards in Writers' News and wanted to check if I'm the only person in the UK who can't understand the need for a 'Diverse unpublished writer of the year award' or, if we must have something which is so badly worded, why it should only be diverse enough to include black and ethnic minority writers but not white ones. That's right: the 'diverse' category is strictly limited in its diversity - if you're diversely white, forget it.
Seems like they don't understand the meaning of diverse. You can't have a diverse writer. It's like having a diverse bus or a diverse cooker. You need more than one thing to be diverse. Or, that's my understanding. I could be wrong.

But even apart from that, why do we have to separate ourselves into categories all the time? Why should a person's sexuality, race, religion, etc, matter in writing? I'm dead impressed by those people who can paint with their feet, and I can see that it's significant in their case that they're a separate category from other painters. I can also see that the writings of children or people with learning disabilities might be judged differently from those of non-disabled adults.

But are we really suggesting that the only way for black writers to get a break or a fair chance is by creating a separate category for them? What does that indicate about the underlying prejudices of the people who think that's necessary? To my mind, it says that they think white writers are superior and would run off with all the prizes. How patronising and plain wrong is that?

Students 65: Management 0

For the first time in ages we have a great group of students. They're fairly well-motivated and usually pleasant. Well, that is, they complain endlessly about the cold and other stuff, drink all our coffee without washing up, and one of them disappears periodically for a nap on the settee, another just disappears altogether...but apart from all that and lots more, they are actually quite nice, funny, and we're enjoying teaching them.

So it's a pity that my manager has turned into, well, I'd like to say psycho-bitch but that would make her easier to deal with. If someone's acting like a complete nutter you can do stuff about it but when they start just trying to chip away at your self-confidence and tell you openly that they can't support you in certain situations because other, more influential, people 'have to be kept happy', well, what can you do? Just slink off home and have a few sleepless nights, I suppose.

So, should I just give up on the main teaching job and stay home and write, maybe do a few adult classes for my second string employer? Or is that what she wants me to do?

What's afoot? Definitely more, as John Lennon said, than twelve inches.

Whoops a daisy

Another report in the paper yesterday about a man following his satnav's instructions to the letter and ending up perched over a drop at a curve in the bridleway he'd driven down. The fact that he was a BMW driver engendered much hilarity and caustic comments, but in fact this happens regularly round here - it's either drivers driving along footpaths or waggon drivers trying to steer their HGVs round tiny corners in hillside lanes that we struggle with in the Jazz. What is it with this people? Are they so seduced by a sexy satnav voice that they disengage their brains when they turn the thing on?

Well, that's the basis of many people's criticisms, but me, I'm saying nothing. Some years ago, after a lovely Elizabethan banquet at a nearby stately home (during which I'd drunk nothing, honest) I was the last one out of the car park. For reasons I've forgotten, but possibly by dint of gormlessness, I turned right where everyone else had turned left. It was very dark and it caused me some concern that the road seemed to be getting narrower and narrower until it was no more than, oh, just a grass footpath really. I did stop and gingerly manouevre the car back round the other way - I didn't like that bit as there were drops on both sides - and go on my way but obviously, it's easily done...

I'm just glad I wasn't driving a BMW to add to my embarrassment.

I've said it before...

...and I'll say it again: those people at The People's Friend are so lovely! Really, they'd make ideal favourite aunts or next door neighbours or...well, I'd like to see them running the country - a bit of politeness and integrity wouldn't go amiss there, would it?

From a writer's point of view, they may be a little tardy these days making decisions - altho' no tardier than any other mag -but they certainly make up for it in encouraging words and just general loveliness. I'm a big fan.

............................


Barney went for a drink yesterday lunchtime, meaning he was unable to pick me up in the car as he normally does from the station. He decided to make up for this lapse by meeting me on foot at the bus stop, with a welcoming glass of red wine in his hand. Aw, bless.

A bit of a moan, kind of

So what's new, eh?

I had an interview yesterday for a job at the college which is near my home - still the same kind of job but slightly more money and of course I'd save the train fare. I didn't get it and, to be honest, I wouldn't have given me it either. They asked about how I use IT in teaching - I use it loads: we watch Youtube clips, do interactive exercises, we update the blog, loads of stuff. But at the time the only thing that came into my head was Skillswise, which is like the most basic website literacy teachers use - couldn't think of anything else!

And then today the course that I was going to take at the nearby university next year has been shifted elsewhere, so I can't do that either. Despite the fact that I need the course to continue to be fully qualified, I was already in two minds as my employers reneged on a promise to pay for half of it, but even so I'd have like the chance to make a choice...

Anyway, it frees up a year to study something I'd like to. What shall I do? Italian? Spanish? Maths GCSE? Something crafty? The world's my lobster, as Hilda would say. Can't be Tuesday evenings tho' as that's the day we're taking up jiving lessons. Can't wait!

Benefit Busters

Have you been watching this?? I'm hooked!


What are they like at A4E?? That poor guy last week who got the job and then was 'let go' after a couple of weeks! The way that old guy spoke to him when he walked out to save himself from death by boredom! The tutor sitting in front of a room full of desperate people without jobs, completing his paperwork!


Where were the basic skills classes? Where was the ICT training? Where was anything except humiliation?


It all makes me so mad. And sad. And outraged. There are people out there milking the system, there's no doubt. There are also lots of people who want jobs, and who are made to sit in a boring room all day looking through the few same job adverts over and over, demotivated and patronised. How does that help them?

Is all publicity good publicity for A4E or will the govt look at the programme and think: hmmm, not such a good system after all. Let's actually give them something to do...

Passive aggression anyone?

Being passive and being aggressive...hmmm, aren't they mutually exclusive?

Don't you hate it when someone makes up a technical name for something when they could just say sulking or obstructive or obnoxious or just bone idle? For that very reason I've made great use of passive aggressive recently as a term of light-hearted abuse for Barney. Neither of us knows what it means, but it sounds impressively 21st century.

Try this fun quiz to determine whether or not you're affected by any of several personality disorders. Well, I thought it was fun anyway...

Diggin' an 'ole

We have a hole - well, holes - in the road outside the house, courtesy of the electricity board, or whatever they're called these days. There are many orange barriers which many men come and lean on at various times, gazing into the depths of the holes, looking for...what might they be looking for? There are also road cutters which are revved into action outside Sweetie's bedroom window about 9am and which do not please her one little bit...don't they know it's the school holidays? is the gist of her complaint.

Meanwhile the Guardian reported that in Scotland, 'Louise Brown' (you'd think at 91, she'd merit a 'Miss' or a 'Mrs' before her name) is on the brink of borrowing her 25,000th book from Stranraer library and is running out of large print items to borrow. I'm sure some would direct her to the talking books collection but, while I'm a big fan of talking books, it's not the same, is it? There are times you want reading matter piped directly into your head and times you want to curl up with an actual book. Go on, Stranraer, buy her some more.

Being a woman of few words...

I sold a story!!

And I was shortlisted in a comp!!

Yippee!!

This Ole House

Short story writers make use of every little thing that happens in their lives, don't they? That's why we walk round with notebooks in our pockets and pencils behind our ears. So, when Sweetie Pie and her friend started banging about and giggling loudly in the middle of the night I tried to see it as the basis of a story. Honest, I did. And then I fell asleep.

Next morning, without a hint of sheepishness, they asked if I'd heard the noise. Turns out when one of them needed the loo in the night, the door fell off its hinges. It's obviously finally taken its bat home at the regular kickings it took to persuade it to shut. Bottom hinge now hanging by a thread; top one dangling in mid air. Health & Safety R'nt Us.

I went and looked and touched the door, positioned carefully upright like a corpse, and the thing wobbled and fell over. And it was pretty funny.

So...story tie-ins...faulty door representing last straw? relationship spoiled by wife nagging about house faults, door finally falls on idle hubby? noisy kids misjudged? house renovations gone wrong? door represents something else that's wrong?...

And talking of being unhinged: can anyone expain why I requested, on Barney's supermarket list, 2 x chimney breasts?

Rise of zombie-girl

A MILD sedative, that was what the doctor said he was prescribing for the sleeplessness which was taking away my ability to think. Not sure how mild mild's meant to be, but anything which knocks you out for not only the night but also most of the next day surely doesn't qualify? I sleepwalked through the end of term party, went back to bed in the afternoon and mumbled replies to anyone daft enough to ask me a question, till about teatime.

Barney and Sweetie say they didn't notice any difference.