Of shards and sheep

...you know...that's not all that easy to answer. I'm not sure I ever have managed to answer that one satisfactorily. Not sure I ever will, either.

In fact, I am not even sure I understand the question.

I am...the sum of my experiences?

I am the offspring of my parents?

I am...a right royal pain in the backside for a lot of people, no doubt.

Am I supposed to say my age and what I do for a job?

Does anyone care which current gender norms I fit into?

Am I meant to proclaim any political, religious, or sporting team affiliations?

I've been thinking about that question a lot lately. It's a fairly common "icebreaker" one in job interviews, and more and more I see people telling me that to sell my glass, I need to "tell people your story".

Uhm.

I'm really not so sure about that.

I've found that being blisteringly honest about things is NOT what people want - lesson learnt after one interview years ago, when asked about a four month gap in my CV. My initial reply of "I realised I needed a bit of a break to get myself back on track" was deemed insufficient, but then it was clearly too much when "had a bit of a breakdown after my niece and nephew were murdered by their dad" kinda derailed the entire interview.

And the sad truth is, a lot of who I am is still tied to that horrible time. I used to be fearless - and I mean that. I would take off and try new things, meet people, put myself so far out of any comfort zone I nearly circled all the way back round. After? I played it so safe as to lock myself in a cage and never expect anything more than the bare minimum of anyone or anything.

But one thing that has stayed consistent throughout, is that I loathe bullies. And I find the wilfully ignorant utterly infuriating. I am one of those odd creatures who believes that tolerance is a wonderful thing, but I also end up being a hypocrite in some ways because I *won't* tolerate hateful, deceitful individuals, and I will cheerfully tell those I believe are being intentionally blind to the toxic behaviour of those they admire that they are just as shitty as their hero.

So I guess I'm a bunch of contradictions walking around, trying to find decent people to spend time with, while cheerfully suggesting to shitty people that they go find a nice short pier to take a long walk all the way off of. Will that do?

That's not going to get me through an interview, or sell my glass, is it?

...when our current crop of "world leaders" vary between spineless wastes of space and pompous pustules of self important arseholery.

See also - pathetic snivelling scumbags vs mass murdering fuckheads.

The most part of people in the countries in question are perfectly decent, normal people. It's like we distill all the crazy, the hate, the general fuckwittery into a single person and then for absolutely inexplicable reasons, allow THEM to be in charge.

And it doesn't help that of course, that they then represent that entire country to the rest of the world. Because when your leader(s) are cruel, corrupt, and murderous? That's how you all get lumped together.

We dont help ourselves, of course. Social media in particular has driven the knee-jerk responsiveness of our species to dizzying new heights of absurdity. Where once, you might have used a word entirely unaware of its connotations in some areas that to YOU, the individual, may be utterly obscure. It's a big planet. It IS possible to miss the nuance a word has in a three-mile square area in a country you've never been to.

Let me give an example.

"Cakey!"

WTF is that meant to mean? Caked on? Turned to a cake-like consistency? No.

It meant (very loosely) that someone was considered a bit of a goody two shoes, and bit too "perfect little student", a bit "naive little girl" and a bit "annoyingly pathetic and weak". And to whom did it mean that? Well, I can think of about half a dozen girls at my school who started throwing it around as an "insult". But i never once heard it outside of my school and even then, only ever within my own year group. Which had 80 people in it, split into two forms. And it was girls in the other form who started it and used it. Quite often about a particular girl in my form.

Now, if I saw/heard someone use the word cakey, would I immediately jump to the conclusion it was an insult aimed at me? Well, contextually, if it was Louise, Nicola, Caroline, or Rachael, yes, I'd probably assume it was. Anyone else? No. I wouldn't. If it WAS definitely aimed at me,and it wasn't one of the aforementioned? I'd have to ask what it was meant to mean.

Contrast this with social media responses.

Person A

Person B "How very dare you use THAT disgusting term for ** which you definitely would have known about because *I* know it and you are evil!!!111eleventyone11!"

Person A "I was talking about potting out my begonias, what are you on about?"

Person B "How dare you disrespect my people like that. Educate yourself! Do better!!"

Person B then instigates a massive pile on to Person A who has absolutely no clue that the word they have always known to be related to potting out plants after the last frost, has been picked up by a group of individuals 5000 miles away in their book club as an acronym for some pretty appalling abuses suffered in the mid 17th century by fishermen in the Azores. Or something equally baffling to Person A.

We are so quick to assume ill intent by others because Internet trolling has trained us to be that way, and it feeds this destructive, feral streak inside us that makes us go to war with each other.

Even now, I find myself being VERY careful not to say what I am actually thinking, since my mental shorthand is not immediately available to anyone not inside my own head. If I were to say "ugh, men!" for example, I would of course in my own head, know exactly who I meant. I'd know the character types I was referencing, and I would be ringfencing the people like my dad, uncle Bob, Grampa Johnny, and the many thoroughly decent men of my acquaintance. But you wouldn't know that unless you asked. You might assume I meant every single last one on the planet, and his little dog, too. And this is where it falls apart. Those assumptions are what pits countries against each other. That pushes ideologies and religions into conflict. The refusal to admit we ALL use mental shorthand is going to kill us. And I am not sure that the planet will miss us.

...and I came out with these.

Quite like them, even if my hands hurt like hell after trying to clean and polish them!

...well, actually there's loads of things I do and some of them are quite annoying, even for me!

But on this occasion, I'm talking about my glass. Yes yes! That fing what I does when it's all about the shiny-stuff-making activities!

Well. Here's the thing. I just linked my website to this 'ere place, so I thought I'd best sort of...mention glass a bit more, maybe? I mean, it wong be the only thing I babble on about. I'm one of these new fangled human things with slightly more complexities and so on than your regular houseplant. Except possibly clematis. Those things are TOUCHY. Or they just don't like me. I mean, could be either. But I digress.


So yeah. I make shiny stuff. And yes, amazing as it is to me, my accountant, and probably my mother, I actually sell it sometimes, too! I do that over there on https://glassywitch.uk. And also at a couple of places, my absolute favourite being Maker's Barn at Petworth. Rosie is amazing.

So, with that in mind here's what I made on Sunday:



I get asked sometimes about my "handmade" claim. And...yes. I can understand why I do.

You see, those frames that I use come in cardboard boxes stamped with "Made in China " all over them. Because they are. So, no. I don't make the frames, I'm afraid. I'd LOVE to use the fellow down the road who does BRILLIANT framing - but then I'd have to pass on the costs and his work is GOOD, so it has a price commensurate with his skill. And I doubt anyone wants to be paying the extra 120 quid on top. I mean. *I* would, and indeed have had him reframe things because he's that good. But I recognise that it's not really something I should impose on other people.

And then there's those murrini (murrini, for the uninitiated, are coloured glass canes that get chopped up for use on things like this). So, the foxglove flowers, the poppies, ivy leaves, and the wheat ears are all murrini created by the endlessly fabulous Tabitha out in Croatia. So no, I didn't make those. I arranged them on the piece, but didn't make them.

The freeze and fuse. I made those. Well. Some of them. Most of the moulds though, I didn't make. And the moulds I DID make? I took impressions from small toys, brooches, pieces of jewellery, button, pin badges...so...DID I make those?

Oh,and no, I didn't make the lantern bodies, either. Most of them come from Ikea, or The Range. I think probably made in China too. I mean sure, we have a forge. But I'm not sure that anyone wants ot needs a lantern that weighs 48 kilos because it's been made of mild steel. Ahhh, the curse of the blacksmith. Able to make anything except a profit ;)

And then the glass. Nope. I didn't make that, either. Not the sheet glass, not the powdered glass, and not the frit (4.30pm the crushed glass which is more coarse than a powder). All made by a company called Bullseye. I didn't build the kiln, or make the kiln paper, or the kiln furniture. I didn't power the kiln - the solar panels (which I also didn’t make) did that.

Yet, I stand by my claim of handmade just the same. Because I have to have the idea and then put the pieces together in the hope of making that idea real. Then I have to decide on a firing schedule which will hopefully result in the outcome I want. And sometimes, it doesn't work out. Sometimes the annealing is wrong, and the piece suffers an unscheduled rapid dissembly. Or the soak time was too long and the temperature too high and it turns into a shapeless puddle. That's all on me and the choices I make when I am making a piece and programming the kiln to cook it.

But no. I don't make the frames, the lantern bodies or the sheet glass. But I hope you don't mind if I go on saying it's hand made all the same? ;)

...There's a chap I know called Robin Ince. He writes books. And does stand up. And is endlessly curious about the world about him. And is probably the kindest, most compassionate and thoughtful person I know. He's definitely a much better human than I am, and makes me a better one by association.

On this occasion, he mentioned his writing work for the Big Issue. It was a question someone had for him once about the content of his column about movies. Because Robin is not a critic. He's a cheerleader. He doesn't fill the column inches with reasons why this or that was shit. He writes about the movies he really loved, and why he thought they were fantastic.

His refusal to spend his time on the moaning and carry-on of complaining about something is surprising in a world where it does seem that complaining about something, or pointing out where it's sub-par is the norm. Both our printed media and content generated online is usually framed in dramatic, intentionally inciteful ways, hoping to get people to engage. And it seems we engage faster when riled. So that is played on.

I've never been of the opinion that any attention is good attention. I've known people who do. But it's not me. If I was about to jump up and down asking people to look at me (a vanishingly rare thing at any time), I would want it to be about something good. [It says a lot that the first thing that sprung to mind as an example was that I had found an intact icthyosaur skeleton while digging over the ground for spuds in the back garden. I mean. To me, that sounds amazing. Might not have the same impact on everyone else, I realise ;)] There are other people though, who seem to revel in saying or doing things they know most will find unconscionable. Because to those people, attention of any kind is something they crave. Possibly they have nothing positive to contribute, and they are just sickeningly lonely. For them, just having someone notice their existence gives validation? Who knows. Bit weird frankly, and not in a good way.

But yes. Robin did say that his reply to the question of why he only wrote about the things that he liked and wanted to share with people was met with another question - "but isn't that difficult?". And he confirmed that at first, it is. The human brain seems wired to shout loudest about things we don't like. But breaking that pattern gets easier the more we write about the things we like.

So, if you are fortunate enough to see Robin in any of his bookshop or library appearances, festivals, scientific and comedic carnivals of chaos, or even BBC recordings of the Inifinite Monkey Cage - here is someone to look up to. A good man, finding his way through life constantly learning, and sharing the good with anyone who wants to hear it.

I can't promise to live up to only writing about good things. It's something I realised I wanted to do in future, but I do often write things down as a way to alleviate the pressure of things I can't control, and really don't like. But I will at least try and remember to write the good stuff too. Like the daftness of my sheep and the joy of someone actually buying my glass because they wanted a piece of my art :)

Oh yes, and if you don't know about it already, might I recommend The Cosmic Shambles. Something of interest for enquiring minds of all flavours.
https://cosmicshambles.com/

...wherever the hell you ended up.


X

...being so thoroughly EVIL, that you would celebrate the opportunity to hurt people you don't even know? That you would stand there, all smiles and jubilation, toasting each other with champagne at the chance to be shitty to a minority?

History will remember your faces. In just the same way that we can still see the face of the man who assaulted Kathrine Switzer in an attempt to prevent her from running in the Boston marathon.

In the same way that the faces of the women screaming abuse at six year old Ruby Bridges disgust us now, the faces of these vile beings will bring a deep sense of shame to their descendants.

I really don't know what's got into these people that they feel the need to be so horrid. They JUST want to hurt people, and people they don't even know, to boot.

Gender is a social construct, nothing more. Why anyone gets so hung up about it confuses me, since gender norms are completely arbitrary anyway.

And it's not simply evil. It's mind numbingly stupid as well. Now that there is a legal definition, and certain laws which only apply now to women...How long before we see something similar to America, where women's rights start being not just eroded but flat out excised. I am already deeply suspicious that this whole charade has been orchestrated and paid for by those same people. And even if it wasn't, the American anti-choice brigade who are already here in the UK attempting to lobby for their opinion must be LOVING this, since they now have a legal element to hang off.

As a side note, there's a LOT of the women in these pictures going to find themselves being questioned before long. A lot of "strong jawlines" there that Elon would simply DIE for. I hope they enjoy being treated like shit by their own "team". But yeah, I'm angry. Angry enough that although the whole pronoun thing passed me by as unimportant for me personally, I might just start using weird ones to fuck with them. My pronouns? Oh yes,you may refer to me as Ma'am or The Magnificence, thanks very much.

I use a rather nifty app called Plum. I found it a few years back, and decided to use it for the purpose of attempting to save some money up. And it's REALLY good for that!

A few years have passed though, and so hey have added in new things it can do, like pensions, ISAs, stocks and share trading.

Because I love a new shiny button in an app, I have of course taken the opportunity yo try a bit of this share trading malarkey. Did I start with any idea about what companies to chose, based on profitability and....other clever things for making massive profit? Erm. No. I am sure it will come as absolutely no surprise whatsoever that I started off by picking things that seemed like a positive effort - such as the "Ethical fund". And then I found shares in companies I liked, either because I have worked there, friends have worked there, that sort of thing. And those who had launched recently and appeared to be run by decent people with a mission to make life just that bit better for people.

But then the invitations to vote at AGMs started coming in. So I started buying small amounts of shares in companies that have pissed me off through their shitty behaviour. Etsy, Amazon, BP...the list goes on.

Today, I've rather enjoying voting against the directorship of certain hugely wealthy - and morally corrupt - individuals. I have enjoyed even more voting FOR proposals put forward by shareholders that the board would like to recommend we vote against - things like a report on the working conditions in their warehouses, a report on their use of packaging materials, a report on the emissions from data centres supporting their AI. While it might seem petty,and may even appear pointless, I truly believe that with the support of enough microinvestors, we can make enough noise to make these arseholes at least CONSIDER listening to us. It might even be enough to shift the position of some big investors when they see the way the wind is blowing.

I'm fortunate to be able to commit these little acts of rebellion. Not everyone has the spare cash (as small an amount as it may be) to do this. But for those of use who can, who are more interested in having a say than a dividend - it's well worth looking in to.

...just being well? Like, you know when you have a headache, it can be all-consuming, and you can't think of anything else beyond how much it freaking HURTS?

Why can't we enjoy the not-having-a-headache with the same intensity?

I am thinking this as I cheerfully cough up a lung, while my nose and my eyes stream like it's monsoon season on my face. Currently trying find out if it's side effects of the drugs that are basically keeping me alive, or just another shitty virus. It really comes to something when your doctor can tell you, with a grin on his face, that it "might just be Covid". Can you imagine THAT five years ago?

...and I can hear my sheep singing to me from square field on the other side of the wall. It's impressive, how loud my wooligans can be - particularly if they are yodelling for snacks. The fan on the forge is pretty loud in the enclosed space, but I can still pick out the plaintive wailing of Neil, and the no nonsense foghorn of Charlie, both of whom are quite convinced that they are quite starving. Then there's Terry, who would quite like to come and see what we're doing please...and Sybil, who is wondering why everyone else is shouting, so thinks she might as well join in.

I only have seven sheep. I did have eight, but Ewedini had to go back to her original flock because she was such a good escape artist. She never went out of sight of the flock, but I was worried she would one day jump into the scrub and land badly. A sheep stuck on her back for a prolonged period is not in for the best of times. So, off she went, a few miles back up the road to her old home. I do miss her, but I don't miss the anxiety.

My sheep are...therapy sheep. We used to keep store lambs which would be fattened up for food. But then the slaughterman got too old to do it any more, and because we don't travel sheep (everything was done on site, no needless cramming into huge lorries and travelling for miles among a superflock of unfamiliar, panicking animals) it was decided to stop. But then the grass got out of hand, and the land looked so very empty. So I got my hands on a couple of Dartmoor greyfaces in need of a pet home. Now, growing up, these were the sheep I saw on the moors. I grew up in a small village on the edge of Dartmoor, and looking back, I can see I had it so good. I chafed at it a bit by 17/18, but as a kid it was perfect.

And so I had two. But then there were three more in need of a home - two rams and a ewe. So, they came to me. They were closely followed by a vet's bill to un-ram the two boys. And THEN I found someone nearby with Herdwicks- my father in law's favourite breed. And so three tiny black lambs joined the flock of hoofing great white carpet rolls year or so later.

I do love my sheep. They are so funny, each with their own distinct personality. They all love a bit of fuss, and Douglas will try and sit in your lap. Queenie is standoffish until you have a scoop in your hand. Then she expects you to stand there and let her eat from the scoop while the peasants crowd around the troughs. Jingle is a friendly fellow and will amble up for a scritch. He sits on his haunches like a dog to let you get that REALLY itchy bit behind his tiny horns. Terry will shove everybody else out of the way until he's satisfied with fuss levels received and Charlie....Charlie is ever the stoic, and just wants to lean on you for a bit. Sybil likes to pretend she doesn't care whether she gets fussed over or not, but makes the most adorable happy chuckle noise when she does. Neil and Douglas meanwhile, will always amble across together and then fight over who gets fussed first. The brothers tend to stick together, although Douglas (ear tag number 42, it was meant to be) tends to be a lot quieter than his extrovert sibling.

The anvil is ringing out as I watch my youngest stepson try and straighten a piece of bar. It's these things, along with the archery, the woodland management, and the glass work, that most of his friends miss out on. I'm glad we have so many options to keep him occupied that don't involve a screen and isolation. I had them growing up and I would hate not offering the same to the next generation. I'd love to offer the chance for his friends to come by and try out these things too, but the whole thing about insurances and everything else puts me off. It was simpler when I was a kid.

Today is a lazy day. There really aren't enough of these. That said, I'm fairly sure I don't recall my parents getting any of those when I was a kid.