Stravaiging

In the Durham Dales

We’ve been on a lovely jaunt - a midway-between-birthdays treat.
New experiences all round. First stop on Saturday morning was to deliver Bruce to kennels. He packed a toy duck and his meals for a two-night stay.

Rooted in the Isles

I spent most of my teenage years and early twenties living on the island of Lewis in the Hebrides. Mum and I made good use of the tweed outlet shop in Stornoway for sturdy yarns to knit with and remnants to make clothes and furnishings from. I remember she sewed me a hacking jacket which I loved, but neither of us were exactly skilled tailors nor of skinny model proportions, and Lewis was quite definitely not a fashion hotspot.

I arrived at textile college in the Borders with a wardrobe of thick gansey-type sweaters, cheap ‘catalogue’ jeans and questionable home-sewn nightwear (mail order brushed nylon remnants, anyone?).

I’ve deviated from my theme, though, which is Harris Tweed. It took me many years to break the youthful association with amateurly stitched but affordable garments and appreciate the true beauty of this classic fabric.

Welcome

In this space I aim to share behind-the-scenes happenings, the hiccups and hurrahs in my creative life, the occasional recipe, musings on the joys of small-scale walking and wandering, an interview or two, and other words as they spring up from my overactive imagination.

A little background?

I was born in the Scottish Borders, quite a while ago. Aged 12, though, I was on the move with parents and brothers to start a new life in the Outer Hebrides. Having the wild Atlantic only a minute from the door meant there was no shortage of fresh air and exercise to balance schoolwork and helping in the family's printworks.