Scott, machine men and the statuesque

I found a picture at one of the lesser opshops this week.  It's one of the ones that rarely has anything worth buying, but you have to check because just occasionally...and they did.  I noticed the lovely frame and I must confess that I bought it for the frame but I am getting to like the picture.

The title is 'The waves roll whitening to the shore' which seems to be a mis-quote from Scott, but on the back of the frame is a sticker from Foy and Gibsons Art Gallery and Picture Framing, Perth.

I thought this would make it a bit traceable and so I went a'huntin on the interweb to see what I could find. I now know far too much about Foy and Gibsons AND the history of telephone exchanges in Perth for my own good.

Turns out that the picture (its probably only a print, btw) - well, the framing of the picture, to be exact, dates from around 1914ish.  I intend to investigate further and obviously if you need to know the absolute detail I am happy to send you a long email upon receipt of a considerable fee by credit card.

Happily, I have several other very similar frames, in which I intend to place my own drawings, and now I at least know a bit more about them.  Also old telephone prefixes, Scottish poets, Scottish seascape painters and chocolate coated Teddybear Biscuits.  A girl has to eat.

The rest of the week was a bit of an anticlimax, treasure-wise.  I got a copy of The Midland Railway Workshops this morning, I love the pictures and stories of the old workshops and the people but it always makes me sad that all of the skills and craft of making and repairing those machines is basically being lost.  I went there after they closed and when the refurbishment and renewal started and I can very clearly remember the buildings all empty but a real sense of industry and history.  There was, in one of the buildings, the most fantastic collection of 'foreigners' on display - things made on the premises over the years which probably shouldn't have been.  I recall being amazed and delighted at it all.

I also picked up a partial collection of ceramic chess pieces which I have been happily playing with all afternoon.  I like the contrast with the plumbing type bits and I think they will look quite interesting en masse.  I found other old bits while looking for the rusty bits for these so once again, not a lot of actual housework was done and there are more bits set aside for new projects.

Sport has hijacked my televisual entertainment once again.  I've decided to immerse myself in Game of Thrones while knitting my jumper, being temporarily bereft of the Walking Dead episodes which complete series 2.  By next week I may be wearing some sort of fur cape and carrying a large sword. (I tend to get over-involved in these things.) I may knit a wolf.

If nothing else I can spend time contemplating why Sean Bean's name isn't pronounced Shorn Born or Seen Been.  Some weeks, it's the small things.

On Wednesday morning, I clawed my way to morning consciousness to this view from my bedroom window.   The whole 'red in the morning' thing appears to be a guideline, rather than a rule, because the day went on to be sunny and of no threat whatsoever to any nearby shepherds.

On the weather report here there is often a warning to sheepfarmers - but they are never specific.  What sort of warning, one may ask?  Diversify or perish?  Don't buy a new tractor?  Don't wear that hat with those boots? That flannel shirt would be better with shoulder pads and some darts?

But I digress.  I survived my first (shortened) week back at work after the grand tour, largely through liberal application of chocolate and cups of tea.  It's not really to be recommended and cuts appallingly into one's social and art time.  Apparently the working week's vicious cycle starts all over again tomorrow (Monday).  Good grief.

 The early morning chill had caused me to consider buying a fur vest.  I should explain that trends are sometimes a trifle slow to reach this little backwater, and fur - fake or real -  hasn't really made the re-entry splashdown here that it has elsewhere.  Like others, I had the lapin jacket in the 70's but I sold it on before the trend began to fade.  

I was toying with bidding for a faux fur vest on Ebuy, having seen a young lady looking splendid and warm in one just the other day.  On reflection, I decided that perhaps, as in the 70's, it's a look best left for the young and that I run the risk of looking too much like mutton dressed as rabbit.  I shall persist with my collections of faux fur snoods and scarves as long as they are warm and I do not attract foxes.  I left behind a vintage mink at a garage sale this weekend - not a coat, but a stole with a face and ears.  I did get this rather snuggly hat, styled after the 60's, for a really cold day.

A very fetching faux fur hood, from the 60's, with fluffy dangling bobbles was snatched from my hands last week by the girlchild, who tells me that she has received many a compliment and envious glance.

During an unscheduled stop at Good Sammies on Saturday, I snapped up some perfectly-fitting Doc Martins in a fetching and non-muttonly Union Jack design.  They are my new equal favourite boots, with the red faux snakeskin-but-actually-really-soft-leather ones I've had for years.

They'll look fetching with the hat.