A little over a fortnight since my last blog post and I'm sitting quietly by the stove trying to work out if it's even possible to coherently share some of the ridiculous things that have happened lately and where to start. This is where being a proper writer would help... or if only I'd taken pictures as proof. Well you'll just have to imagine if you can:-  the aftermath of the snowstorms, the heating oil arrived at last, the cupboards restocked with Marmite and bread flour and all is as it should be; except that as the snow melted and spring seemed to be arriving, the water went off. Much of the country had similar problems including Jackie Morris and the designer/shepherdess  Alison O'Neil who both endured similar lengths of time with no running water (and electricity in Alison's case). For 8 days, while waiting for the plumber, we wrestled with the ancient pump (the water comes up from a spring near the beck and it had frozen) and the horrible tanks in the attic; lugging buckets up from the beck for toilet flushing and wrecking my plastic free intentions by buying gallons of bottled water. It was horrible, one trip to the beck was enough for me, I ached all over and the romance of rural life was hard to see. It shouldn't have taken so long to fix but the house is old and crumbling and the whole experience was incredibly stressful, dredging up memories of the last days at Snilesworth and making me militant about the absolute priority that should be given to making sure people all over the world have proper access to clean drinking water and sanitation. We take water for granted, especially in the Lake District and hardly ever stop to think how amazingly lucky we are. Water Aid do great work in this area, as I've mentioned before,  so maybe I'll ask my landlords to make a big donation!As a side issue we discovered that there was a monster living in the attic. We'd heard him moving his furniture around in the night but whilst battling with water tanks and  float switches in the terrifying attic, Rupert found the "droppings" of something evidently much larger than a mouse. Thankfully not rats, my friends assured me, but more weirdly ... weasels or stoats. Really?! I haven't been able to eat from the stoat plate since all our chickens got murdered when we moved here and now it seem the culprits live upstairs!This house is connected to the old cottage next door, so we had a bit of sorting out to do in there too ( burst pipes, Aga issues etc) once the water was back on and I decided to put some of our washing up in their dishwasher since we don't have one. The cottage is dark and slightly haunted, having been empty for a while, but I'm never too worried, even when I realised that the front door was ajar when I went in to collect my pots in the evening- I probably didn't close it properly. In the back kitchen, loading my tray I heard a very strange noise and realised I wasn't alone. Shuffling , scratching, banging sounds that were obviously a brutal burglar nicking the collection of Beatrix Potter figurines, came from the front room and I prepared to meet my doom armed with some crockery. Creeping round the corner I came face to face with a tawny owl who was jumping up and down on the windowsill trying to get out. As I write I can hear the owls, they call constantly even in daylight and I love them but not upset ones in a confined space. As I edged forward to try and open the door the owl swooped silently into the other room and eyed me from the top of a wooden screen before hurling itself into the mirror over the mantlepiece, scattering trinkets and old photographs.We played this game for half an hour- I considered taking photos and wish I had now but I just wanted to set it free without getting it's talons stuck in me. Eventually the poor thing was so fed up of flying at the window that I managed to catch it (wearing an enormous pair of gauntlets that were lying  around- it's that kind of place) and set her down on the gatepost outside, part of me wanting desperately to keep her. Away she flew, without a sound or a backward glance leaving me to recover from the shock. How did she get in, walking through the half open door or falling out of the attic after the plumber left a hatch open? Summoned by too many owl drawings and not enough flowers?I feels though I've waffled on enough now, you probably had to be there, but anyway, it sets a scene. I live in a very odd place and I think if it weren't for my precious, occasional bookshop days, I would be going a little bit crazy by now. It's important to have a bit of human interaction and lately that has felt more important than ever.When not fetching water or wrangling owls I've been drawing swans, preparing to send an image or two down for an exhibition in Bristol next month and being inspired by a folk tale based in Grasmere called the Hunchback and the Swan by Taffy Thomas , a local storyteller. I've just found this wonderful animation by Dotty Kultys based on the story today  [vimeo 197521074 w=640 h=360]Isn't it great and the music too! Now I need to keep drawing because I have lots of ideas but they're not popping out how I want them too yet. Here is my swan, the Lady of the Lake.Until next time. xReading: "A Line Made by Walking" Sara Baum  Listening to : " TheBedlam Stacks" by Natasha Pulley ( audio book)SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave

March winds doth blow... This morning I was roused from my warm bed by a phone call from the oil company " apparently you're up to your knees in snow so we won't be able to reach you for a few days" Ah well, it was only to be expected; the country is gripped by a sudden, belated burst of real, old fashioned winter and naturally, I have run out of heating oil and Marmite. Yesterday's sparkling perfection has been replaced by a wild, knife sharp wind, stirring horizontal drifts which are interspersed with slow spirals of new settling snow. The flakes appear sometimes to rise back up again as if undecided. We are inside a snow-globe in the hands of a particularly rowdy child.The first thing I did, once firmly wrapped in assorted layers and the stove had been fed, was to cook a pan of brown rice to feed the birds. They're out there now, occasionally blown sideways and it's quite funny to watch Mr Nutty the Nuthatch adapt his feeding style to eating from a pan on the ground-he would much rather be upside down and seems out of place on a flat surface. Blue, Coal and Great Tits as well as squabbling Robins and a Blackbird or two have also visited, but no sign of Mr Pecky the Woodpecker, I do hope he is safe somewhere.If you have been reading this blog for a while you might know that normally I would be in my element, despite the lack of heating. Being snowed in has traditionally been my absolute favourite time for creativity, reflection and self indulgence; an excuse to re-read "The Long Winter" and  "Moominland Midwinter" whilst wrapped in blankets by the stove. This time I'm feeling a little out of sorts and thinking, be careful what you wish for. Loneliness  is a bit of a hot topic at the moment ( if you'll excuse the irony) and whilst I won't deny I love  my rural solitude and actively need periods of isolation to feed my imagination, it feels very different to the winters in Yorkshire. I suppose living on the edge of a community that one is part of  and knowing family and friends are close, is very different to living in a place where you realise that there is actually no one to call on if you need to, which is why today was encouraging. For the first time in 3 years our neighbour from the next farm drove over to ask if I was ok and if I needed anything! I think extreme weather brings out the best in people and it made me quite emotional. The past 3 years have brought so many new challenges but the main one has been dealing with feeling displaced and unsure of my own new identity and here is a thing... don't assume someone will ask for help or company, it's really hard to ask, especially if you're shy, fiercely independent or have a historical reason to mistrust neighbours on quad bikes. That thing about checking in with people is really important though, we should all try to reach out moreI think.Last weekend I was in Grasmere house and dog sitting for the bookshop people. It was the most perfect crispy clear, sunny winter weekend and I even spent time snoozing in a chair outside listening to an audio book. In the evenings I sat by the Aga and became hopelessly addicted to watching  "Anne with an E" on Netflix. Oh, it's been a very long time since I first met Anne Shirley and something about the opening credits, the Tragically Hip soundtrack and the story of a girl just wanting to belong somewhere made me weep like a fool, and laugh and then weep again. There is something especially moving about revisiting childhood stories as an adult and if I had worked harder at school I'd be able to write you a learned essay on why Anne of Green Gables is more than just a cute kid's book...for me it's something to do with optimism and a sense of place, the importance of  landscape, acceptance of difference and feeling at home...  “Its strange to love a place like you would a person, but I do!”. Anyway I bought the book when I worked in Sam Read's  and will spend the rest of World Book Day reading and channeling my inner Anne.I'll be drawing the winner of my Newsletter Subscribers Draw later, I can't quite believe it's March! April marks the 1oth anniversary of this blog as well as 10 years since I graduated from CCAD with my shiny First Class Honours degree and set out to make my fortune. Hmmm, fortunes are hard won and the road is definitely full of pot holes but in the mean time I'll keep on feeding the birds, drawing bears and wondering about the further adventures of this character...Hell's teeth it's cold...keep warm. xReading "Anne of Green Gables" L.M. Montgomery Listening to: "Ahead by a Century" Tragically HipSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave

I'm blaming my new glasses for the time it has taken me to settle down to write tonight- that and the mountain of pancakes I made (it's Pancake Day here in the UK) even though I'm home alone (banana with maple syrup and whipped cream, mmmmm ). I got new varifocals last week and they make me feel like somebody else; somebody I don't like the look of, who most probably took a large dose of Mescaline or whatever makes the carpet come to life in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas; the floor now ripples in a disconcertingly trippy way! The new frames, which I'd hoped would make me look more à la mode, remind me of my first pair of NHS glasses when I was about 8; the world has a frame around it again and I'm reliving all my childhood hangups about being the kid with glasses.*I just looked up à la mode and it can also mean "topped with ice cream" ...February has been beautiful so far and a little bit of motivation has returned. The late winter snow seems to be an inspiration every year and I've been busy making new things, doing some drawings in my digital sketchbook and going on  small winter adventures. Last week we went up Carrock Fell and, after worrying my way up the steep bit, I lost myself in admiring the scattered diamonds, wind etched snow fields and iced bun rocks. We drank hot tea in a shelter cairn and I  galumphed along following Rupert's footprints on the stumbly trek back down. There was a cloud full of snow behind us, the wind spun powder in to our faces and the snow was up to my knees in places; I couldn't stop thinking of the film Lost Horizon. In the picture above, you can just see the sunbeam hitting a group of trees at Skiddaw House, one of the most remote hostels in the country, miles from any road- perfect spot for an artist's retreat!I've been making new lampshades and making the most of bright days to photograph them- which seems a little back to front. Each one took longer than ever to make as I got carried away with the embroidered details and deciding, after continuing with the exercises in my Dream Plan Do book, that what I enjoy most about my work is making something really special that can sometimes take days to complete. The shades and lamps have just as much work in them as a framed piece,  so that although pricing will always be difficult, I have made a promise to myself that I will stop undervaluing these pieces.I've had a complete creative block lately and felt really quite low but in the last couple of days I've made time to mess about with my Wacom drawing tablet and found myself doing what I always used to do as a child which was drawing stories  just for fun and escapism. The little house, above, started off after driving past the white climbing hut at Stair. As I drew and played with the Kyle T. Webster brushes, the hut evolved into strange a fairytale that hasn't quite been put in to words yet....Today my lovely friend Susie , from Glaisdale where we both grew up, shared a picture of her mum who would have been 100 today. The picture was of a small girl with big boots and an enormous hair ribbon. Anyway I had some more fun doodling my imaginary version, perhaps she lives in the little white house? perhaps she's just going to visit? Either way it's nice to retreat into your imagination when it's cold outside and your glasses are upsetting you.Now, I have promised myself that I'll print two more pieces of fabric tonight ready for stitching tomorrow so I'll start to pipe down. The room smells of snowdrops and it's time for a cup of something warm. There are other things to talk about... how it's easy to get cocky and mess up all but one of your printed tiles by forgetting to rotate the writing, how the one mythical chilblains become a real thing when taking photographs in the snow and how it is possible, even when feeling a bit fed up , that some excellent fiddle playing might cause you to stop the car to dance a jig on the darkened fell side like the shadow of the girl  you used to be.Reading: "Wildwood-a Journey Through Trees" Roger Deakin.   Listening to: The Gloaming  and " The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock" Imogen Hermes Gowar (Audio book)