Groningen: City of Love?

I highly doubt the guidebooks would be quick to point to Groningen as a "Romantic City Destination" ... and I would agree. However, today is Valentine's Day, and even cold, northern cities can bring out their best for such occasions.

On my walk to class this morning the two markets of Groningen, the Grote Markt and Vismarkt, were awash with blooms for Valentine's Day. Roses by the ton and bright flowers in creative bunches spilled out of the market stalls, destined to surprise someone. Rather nice to see such a display of brightness first thing in the morning, and I do love freshly cut flowers.

I've never had much time (or patience) for Valentine's Day, having always written it off as a "Hallmark Holiday" (Hallmark, as in the makers of greeting cards.) Today, I rather surprised myself, and I do hope you'll forgive my lapse into sentiment.

I spent the most enjoyable evening with a group of people I'd never met before at a film event, watching one of my favourite films, Before Sunrise. (And I would implore you see it at once!) It's a film about two young people who meet on a train headed to Vienna. It's classic '90s in most ways, but Ethan Hawke and Julie Delphy give outstanding performances. The entire film moves along through dialogue; it is incredible engaging and such a sweet story. It is a modern look at love, perhaps, and we had a great discussion afterwards about it.

A couple who has been married for 47 years led this group discussion, and they talked about the changing views of love. Someone asked them about romance in marriage...doesn't it just fade away? I think we young twenty somethings look at the idea of over forty years of marriage as remarkable in this day and age. It is almost hard to believe - will we find ourselves in similar positions in forty years time? This couple were so charming in their answers, which revolved around working at a marriage, having faith and trust, and friendship. It struck a chord with me, because it was a very honest answer. Marriage may not be perfect (nothing is, of course) but it can be good, and that is perhaps something we hadn't considered.

I walked home in the late night drizzle, suddenly with eyes looking outward, rather than in. It didn't matter a tuppence that I was walking by myself; I didn't mind in the least. Groningen was all at once teeming with life. All around me couples were walking along hand in hand, deep in conversation with one another. Lovers were tumbling from the doorways of cafes and ristorantes; a young man cycled past with his girl on the back of the bike, her bright pink suitcase rumbling along after. Two men walked across the markt companionably; a pair of sixteen year olds cycled along the road, hand in hand; two ladies walked past me, eyes only for each other; an older couple walked slowly along the wet pavement, each in their best coat; a man gave a lady a rose.

The city was alive with peace and happiness. It was like something had come over the entire place - there was a sense of calm, and everywhere I looked there were soft smiles and tender touches. It was a most beautiful thing, and I felt so buoyed by the pleasant evening and the feeling of peace around me.

Love and friendship do exist - I saw that in the streets of my new city tonight. Perhaps having a day to celebrate that isn't so bad, Hallmark cards aside. I think, though I haven't spent the day in the "traditional" way, it has been a wonderful Valentine's Day. It has been full of friendship and laughter, good deeds, and a hopeful insight into the love filled streets of Groningen.

I hope you all have had a similarly wonderful day!

Remembering to Conjugate the Verbs: Dutch 101

There is something decidedly wonderful about learning a language properly. More specifically learning said language in the country in which it is spoken. It's double the motivation because it can be used just beyond the doorstep. After four years, I've become a student again: I began my Dutch language class yesterday here in Groningen, and I walked away feeling both extremely encouraged and overwhelmed. (A surprising mixture...)

The class is a perfect size: ten of us, nine girls and one poor, shy chap that might be regretting his choice. We are all about the same age and around the same level of proficiency as well (intermediate). It is incredible to hear Dutch spoken with so many different accents in one room! We are all well motivated for our own reasons, and everyone helps each other out if we make mistakes. It felt very encouraging and wasn't too intimidating. With such a friendly group, by the time the mid-morning coffee break came around, we were all chatting and gossiping (kletsen in Dutch) easily. Such fun!

The overwhelming bit came when I suddenly realised, in the middle of conjugating the verb "to go", that I would have to relearn everything. Yep. Start again from the beginning and learn it properly. I have come in "off the street", as it were, whereas the rest of the group have come from the previous class. My knowledge of the Dutch language has come from being surrounded by it with family, copying other people, listening and repeating, and so on. So, my grammar is substandard to say the least. I can say a sentence correctly, but I can't tell you why - I just do it.

Suddenly faced with parts of a sentence, tenses, and irregular verbs, my heart sank: this was going to be Hard Work. I spent the afternoon curled up with a grammar book, and began the homework we'd been set with a revived gusto. Half way in I had to stop, as I was getting my sentences back to front and my conjugations were becoming steadily worse. I put it aside and didn't look at another Dutch word for a few hours. It can sometimes become too much. Speaking and listening is fine, but when the brain has to really engage and do tasks that you've been set, it is much more tiring. Going to the butcher for my grandmother is one type of test; sitting and writing out essays is quite another.

In the evening there was a meet up at a Taal Cafe - a language cafe - where both Dutch and International students come together to practise the language. I went with some girls from class, and it was a huge success! There were lots of people there from all over the world, and we were all communicating splendidly. It was very neat - English is often used as the lingua franca (or "bridge language") between countries, but last night, we all found common ground though an entirely different language. For many Dutch was their third or fourth language. It is only my second, so I rather felt like the poor relation. I spoke to one chap who said Dutch was his fifth (!) language. I found it reassuring that a Dutch guy said to me at one point in the evening, "You have no accent? But...you said you aren't from here?"

Best pick up line a Language student can ever hear...

Most of us left after about an hour and a half. As more people arrived, the harder it became to hear each other. Once back at home, I put the television on to catch up on what's been happening at Sotchi. It looked far too cold and I have no real interest in skiing, so I flicked around, only to land on an episode of Borgen (a Danish television series about a female prime minister, amongst other things). So, as you might have guessed, it is subtitled. But being on a Dutch channel, the subtitles were not in English as I am used to when watching my Nordic Noir series. Needless to say, after an entire day of immersing myself in Dutch with speaking, listening, writing and now reading, I was exhausted. I went to bed with an aching head, only to lay there thinking in Dutch.

It's a long road ahead until certification; I know that, but I'm excited. I want to learn it properly and not just fly by the 'seat of my pants'. Doing something, and doing it well are quite different. It is important to me that I learn it properly because I'm a bit of a perfectionist, but also it means that the history of my family isn't lost or forgotten. Hundreds of years of my family history are flowing through my veins, desperate to be understood. The Dutch language is for me, both intuitive and mysterious. I think every language has those exceptions you just have to know. I can see my own progress, which helps my confidence. I know that if I do get it wrong, the Dutch, in their wonderfully blunt way, will just say, "What!?" and I will try again.

Language is representative of culture in so many ways. I think there is so much to be gained from speaking another language.

Stayed tuned for more conjugation updates from de zolder kamer (the attic room)...


(And if I can just take a moment to add: I've just become a featured blogger on ExpatBlogs. There is a link to your right that will take you to a page where you can review my blog. So, if you enjoy reading this, please leave a quick review to help push me up in the rank and file of Netherland blogs. Thank you!)

The Precarious Position of Travel Planning

It's been raining for nearly three days here. The type of rain that leaves you completely soaked within minutes, feeling rather stupid for not owning an efficient umbrella. That kind of rain. So, I've been holed up in my new attic room, listening to the rain pitter-patter and the wind howl, while being pleasantly warm and dry. Being stuck indoors doesn't make me stir crazy, in fact I rather enjoy it. The weather is a fantastic excuse to remain indoors where it's comfortable, and to catch up on reading, writing, guitar playing, episodes of NCIS, and exploring the many ways to enjoy Nutella. (Most recent insight: Nutella on shortbread fingers. You can thank me later...)

I sat back this afternoon, having very much enjoyed my weekend of cosiness, and my eye fell on my World Atlas. And thus began a very dangerous endeavour: armed with the atlas and a stack of new Lonely Planet guides (they would go and have a 50% off sale last month. It's like they know I can't help myself. And then the taunting "FREE shipping if you spend X"...), I got out my pencil and paper and began to think about the places I would like to see this year. This is why it is so precarious - I end up wanting to go nearly everywhere and the list gets very long. In the course of writing down my ideas, I flipped through the notebook and found a list I'd compiled three and a half years ago when I first moved to Cambridge. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so, the list was nearly identical, with only eight places marked off the first list.

Planning extravaganza!

Considering I've also been to lots of places that weren't on the list, I didn't feel too badly about this. Actually felt rather relieved I had achieved as much as I had, considering Egypt is not the easiest of places to visit any more. The world is constantly changing, making travel both easier and more tricky. So, it was with renewed fervour that I delved into my new Lonely Planet guides, drawing up ideas of things I want to see. Some ideas being: Ypres, as it is 100 years after the start of WWI and might be historically interesting to see; Russia (EasyJet flies there now for ridiculously cheap fares - brilliant!); Vienna ... and Salzburg - to investigate if the hills are, in fact, alive. The list goes on (and on).

Living on mainland Europe now has opened up a door to more access to these places. I think looking at the train timetable is even more dangerous than the atlas. Because The Netherlands is quite small, I can be practically anywhere else in Europe within a few hours. Berlin for the weekend; Bruges for a day out? Don't mind if I do! You wouldn't imagine a channel making much of difference, but I think it does. It feels much more tangible here in the north of the Netherlands. Europe's doorstep, perhaps. Time and real life are rather a factor, of course.  They keep getting in the way...

I've think I've decided to be rather irresponsible this year. (This year, I hear you say...). Why not use Groningen as a base to see more of Europe? Travel is something that makes me very happy, and I don't do nearly enough of it. I do travel a fair bit, but it is like a hunger never quite sated. It only ever grows, and my greediness for experiencing new cities and new cultures dances in the back of my mind most distractedly. So, perhaps rushing about Europe once the thermometer goes over 16C (60F), isn't such a bad idea? There is such a thrill of stepping on to a train with just a backpack slung over your shoulder, knowing that new things await you. Being able to wear the same clothes day in and day out, with no one minding; getting your fill of museums and art; trying new foods and attempting new languages; learning and experiencing.

Planning a trip is nearly as fun as setting off on the adventure itself. Figuring out how to get from one place to the next; what to see and do. What is the history behind the place, etc. It certainly kept me pleasantly occupied on a cold and rainy afternoon!

How do you plan for your travels? Do you often get itchy feet and the desire to visit new places?

Introduction to Groningen

Irish singer/songwriter, Luka Bloom, who I once met briefly after a lovely gig, wrote a song about his time in this city of Groningen. It begins:

I came into this city on a cold winter's morn,
Needing human comforts just to move along.
I sang and played the music as in many towns before,
Here I sang my heart out, you gave me so much more-
Reminding me to live and love life with a smile
And all of my frustrations became worthwhile...
....In Groningen, in Groningen
You had so many beauties I will never know,
But your peace and your wisdom help me grow...

Perhaps I hope to find the same joy. I suspect Groningen can be a most enchanting place.

My new city is not one many may have heard of outside of The Netherlands. Certainly it is not as famous as Amsterdam or Den Haag (The Hague) or even Utrecht. For those of you wondering where on earth it is that I've actually taken up residence, let me explain:

Groningen, the city, is the capital of the province of Groningen in the north of The Netherlands. While it looks like it should be pronounced, "Groan - again" (which you may well do after a visit to one of the many bars...) it is in fact pronounced thus: Guh (the "G" sounds like you are coughing up phlegm...) - rrrr (roll the "r") - then "own", and then sort of add "again" to it. All together now: Groningen!

(I never said this was going to be easy).

Despite the city's name using muscles unbeknownst to me, it is an interesting place. I came through one day at the tail end of a visit to the Netherlands many years ago at the height of spring. Which is to say, it was still cold but everyone still made a point to sit outside cafes in the sunshine. It isn't much different from any other Dutch city: canals, koffie shops (yes, those kind), sex shops and a red light district, mad cyclists, cobble stone roads, and a rather impressive church. I think why I liked it is because it still has a market town feel (much like my old home, Cambridge). It is the only big city in the north, once a large trade hub, and yet it doesn't have the same grungy feel as other large cities do. It stuck in my mind because of this. It is also a student town, full of life and fun.

In fact, students makes up a fair bit of the population. Something like half the people living in Groningen are under the age of 35. The Rijksuniversiteit Groningen is 400 years old this year and is in the top 100 universities. With loads of international students and being close to family, I thought it would be a good fit. (Though nothing is far away here - you can drive across the country in about three hours. That's insane. In Colorado it takes six hours plus to drive from one end of the state to the other!)

Martinitoren

The Martinitoren, just over the canal from where I live, chimes the hours merrily with its 62 bells, and looks rather grand on the edge of the Grote Market (literally, Large Market). It withstood the 'Battle of Groningen' at the end of World War II, and looks a lot like the Domtoren in Utrecht, but perhaps a bit less gloomy.

There's another kerk (church) at the end of the other square in Groningen, the Vismarkt (Fish market), called the Aa-Kerk. This one is more rounded, with a smaller tower, but equally beautiful. At one end of this kerk is a huge hall that used to be a Wheat Exchange which they have now, depressingly, turned into an Albert Heijn supermarket.

City Hall and Grote Markt (empty)

At the open air markets you can find everything you'd want; the train station is a work of art in itself; there is a sort of harbour at the end (or beginning?) of the canal system with the most magnificent ships; there are millions of shops and cafes. There is one cafe called 'The News Stand' which looks just like the sort of place expatriots would go to drink strong Dutch coffee and read English newspapers. I like it a lot because they let me sit at the bar and drink tea.

There are also a few museums. Not as many as I would like, being a museum afficianado, but one mustn't be picky. There is a rather lovely Nautical Museum which gives a concise look at Groningen's maritime history. There is the Groninger Museum which has lots of paintings, photographs and sculptures. The building was designed by an Italian and is often the first look of Groningen people coming off the train get. It's right across from the station, built in the middle of the canal. I think you either find the architecture inspired or off putting. For me it is the latter, but I will give it a go. There is also, oddly, a "Strip Museum" which is full of famous Dutch comic strips. Not exactly what I imagined when I first heard of it, I must say.

There is also a huge park called Noorderplantsoen where a huge music festival takes places each summer. I think Groningen will really come alive once the temperatures go above 18C (65F). It is half an hour from the coast, and also the border with Germany. It's quite exciting living so close to a border (not that they count for much these days in the EU...). But still, it is Germany! 

So, plenty to explore and read up on about Groningen. They have a dialect and a strong accent in this part of the country, so now I have to train my ear all over again. Mastering another language is tricky at the best of times... I realise I haven't given a very good outline of the history of the town. It will be my homework for next time. I think I've got enough to be getting on with: museums to see and old cobble stone side streets to be explored! 

The Starving Artist

If I were to receive an owl from Hogwarts (rather too old now, but one can hope...) I believe the address would look something like this:

Attic Room
Stairs of Death
By the Canal
Freezing North

Stairs of DEATH

The stairs will eventually be the death of me, I'm sure of it. Either that or the mad cyclists. I understand the concept of space saving, but really, this is rather the limit. Imagine if you will, steps that allow only enough space for your toes; or if you go down sideways, the side of your foot. The first time I went down these stairs I wondered for a moment if I shouldn't be wearing a harness and saying to some trustworthy person above, "on belay?" (climbing term for, "am I safe to begin descending?" said to the person guiding your rope...as I remember. Climbing friends correct me if I'm wrong...).

And when you come in...well, there is only enough space for the door itself, so you have to climb the first step, and push the door behind you. All this while holding mountains of shopping. Plus, another set of stairs to get to my bit...while they aren't as steep, they are narrow. The Dutch architects who came up with these stairs have a lot to answer for...

Aside from navigating the impossibly steep stairs with my shopping, the place is beginning to feel cosy; I'm settling in and adjusting to being in a city again. It's an old house, so let us just say that it has its share of character. 

As it is, I'm rather enjoying playing at "the starving artist". It suddenly struck me as I was speeding across Holland in a train that this is what I'm doing. I don't mean for a minute that I'm comparing myself to Van Gogh, or a poet living in penury. What I mean is this: some of my favourite authors, such as Hemingway and others of 'The Lost Generation' were all living in Europe (Paris, mainly) in the '20s and having a fine time. They were drinking the town dry while turning out some amazing work. You read about Hemingway living at the top of some building in a flat without much furniture, writing in the dawn light until his first wife and son would wake - doesn't it just sound so romantic? (Mind you, if his stairs were as awful as mine, I can begin to understand why he drank all afternoon...) Anyway, the image has always stayed with me, and I loved the idea of it.

Or Christopher Isherwood making his way through Berlin as a tutor and writer, capturing the place with his words. Or even all the many artists and folk singers of the '60s over in New York. Those of the 'Beat Generation'... There is such a romantic image surrounding the authors and artists of earlier times: living in pokey places without much of anything (except alcohol). Fuelled by their art alone, perhaps.

While I am by no means a starving artist (I wouldn't survive a week - according to my mother I eat like a dockworker...), I am revelling in the fact that I'm living in an attic room, able to write until all hours of the day; to play my guitar and craft new songs and rework old ones. I've always had a sort of dream that I would one day either live in a pokey flat like Hemingway, or a Cornwall cottage with only the sea for company like D.H. Lawrence - to write all morning, then nip out for fresh air and a baguette or a walk along the sea...

That I have been able to fulfil another of my dreams is very satisfying. And it is this that I will take with me. This feeling of accomplishment of having strived towards a dream, albeit rather unconsciously. I think I am just in the habit of doing what I love (as we all should be). And while my books may not find publishers, and my songs may not reach millions, the words pour out anyway. And I am glad.

I don't think I'm really a Bohemian (though my hair is rather bobbed these days, and I do have a Persian rug...), but I'm enjoying living like one for the time being. Living right in the city centre is quite new for me. It's so intriguing! I can pop out to the open air market and buy anything imaginable. And the people! I sometimes wonder if my life isn't like a film. For example, there is a chap in a flat directly across from me who sits at his desk by the window for hours, pulling at his hair. I feel I should write words of encouragement on a sign and prop it up in my window.

Downstairs someone has a moped with a dodgy motor and has to stamp on the starter for about 5 minutes before it roars into life. There are two schools on either side of me that ebb and flow with noisy children at ungodly hours. There are pubs and tanning salons, florists and corner shops. The church clock strikes every hour to remind us of the passage of time.

It is glorious. I feel young and alive - filled with artistic desire. Perhaps pokey flats and stairs of death do serve a purpose...

Super Bowl as Experienced in the Netherlands

Let me preface this post by saying I'm not a huge fan of American Football. For one thing, it takes far too long to watch. What are meant to be 15 minute quarters end up taking at least an hour each! I have neither the patience nor the free time. In fact, the only time we watched it was when the Super Bowl came around, and some friends invited my family and I to come watch. It was our state's team, so we felt compelled to have a look. That was 15 years ago, when the Denver Broncos won two years in a row. The days of John Elway.

Football, perhaps a symbol of America and the American spirit as much as Baseball, is something that baffles me. Not only does it take forever, but they hardly use their feet (so, why "football"). There is a whole language of "1st and tens", "yardlines", or "second downs". 300 pound American men throwing themselves to the ground and pushing each other over, while suited up to an immense level of padding. What is also startling is how over the top it can get. Cheerleaders and mascots running about madly, rabid fans painted to the gills, food that exists only to assure the longevity of cardiologists' careers...not to mention fireworks, marching bands and goodness knows what else.

And it is for this reason I rather like it. It is so...American. Being over here in the Netherlands I didn't expect to watch the Super Bowl. With the knowledge that my old state's team had played an incredible season of football and was headed to the Super Bowl, I felt once again compelled to catch some of it. Luckily for me, sports bars abound here in the city of Groningen, and one was having a right old shindig for the Super Bowl. Perfect!

It surprised me, in fact. I thought that here (where it is legal and fairly common), "Super Bowl" might bring to mind a rather excellent selection of...er...mind altering substances. Surprisingly, I found out the Dutch are fairly knowledgeable about American sports. (They probably know more than I do, let's be honest). They even have an American Football Team, the Groningen Giants, who were out in force with their cheerleaders. It was really most bizarre. 

Decked out in my best orange and blue (GO BRONCOS!) I sat myself down next to some chaps who were also rooting for Denver. Many people were wearing jerseys or team ball caps; others decked out in red, white and blue. American flags were hung all over the bar. I was terrified someone was going to ask me to explain the rules, but as I've previously stated, the Dutch know their way around a football field. Most of the bar was supporting the Broncos, which was great.  We could all shout at the television together. (And, unfortunately a lot of shouting was needed as they didn't play their best...). By Halftime, most of the bar had switched sides to support the Seattle Seahawks. Granted, it is much more fun to support a winning team...

I felt oddly nostalgic as I watched, sat in a comfortable corner of a bar in the north of the Netherlands. What a strange place to find myself! I felt an uncanny surge of patriotism and smiled fondly at the jets flying over, the marching band, the coin toss; what a spectacle! So over the top, loud, brash and so wonderfully, beautifully American. Such a performance would not work anywhere else in the world. It made me miss Colorado for a moment; I thought of all the people I know who would be out supporting the team. I slowly remembered the rules as the game got under way, thinking back to the cold evenings spent on bleachers with friends at the High School Homecoming game. The whole community came together. The smell of chili dogs and nachos, the sound of feet stamping in time to "Let's go Pirates, let's go" and people with painted faces waving signs and flags.

The Broncos may not have won, but it was still an enjoyable night for me. I liked seeing another culture get wholeheartedly behind a different country's sporting event. But now, I will turn my focus back on to 6 Nations Rugby, in which the men do not wear padding and do not stand about making 90 minutes stretch for hours.

Doing it by Hand: Learning Domesticity

There is, in my opinion, a lack of "doing things by hand" these days. We are a throw away society, especially in well to do, Western countries. Things must always be instantaneous. Here, in the middle of the North Sea, on an island that looks rather like it is stuck in 1935, I have learnt to take life slower, and to "make do and mend."

In the weeks leading up to my imminent move to my new room, in a new city, in a new country, I've had to get a lot of things organised and sorted. Sifting through clothes, old letters from friends, that poster I just had to have about four years ago...oh golly, do things pile up. And with moving to a new place you need things you were sure you had, but now can't seem to find.

I arrived at my grandmother's with all my bits and pieces, feeling rather like a vagabond. Worn clothes, holes in rucksacks, and very travel weary - I am sure those around me must have despaired. So, it was with immediate effect that all my things were pulled out and washed, examined with scrutiny, and I was stuffed to the gills to bring back the glow of healthiness. (Thank goodness for family!) It was during all this, however, that I realised I didn't know much about anything at all. How, for example, should I wash that old, but favourite, wool jumper? How on earth do I set about mending that well-used bag? What, in fact, is the best way to cut up chicken, or even to slice fruits and veg without a cutting board? And really now, how have I gone without learning to hang up laundry properly?

I was about to learn quickly. Did you know there is actually a way to properly hang laundry? (I certainly never knew!) Growing up in the States, hanging up laundry was something you saw only in films. Everyone had a dryer (or a drycleaner's). I honestly had no clue. In my nearly four years in England, my washing was always rather in a state of hopelessness - not to say it wasn't clean, but the drying process was rather hit and miss. This was partially due to the weather (thanks, rain), and in part due to a lack of a clothes horse. Chairs and radiators it was then. I came to my grandmother's and suddenly realised that hanging up washing properly could save you mountains of time. 

It's also bloody hard work. My shoulders ached after the first two loads. My grandmother, being a sailor's wife, has a wonderfully rigged laundry line both inside and outside, all with twine and sailing knots. (Of which I also had to learn). Hauling the line up with heavy, damp cloth is hard work! Never have I seen such white and pristine whites, nor such un-faded darks though - it was a washing revolution. Hanging it correctly can also mean you can get away without ironing (BIG plus for me, as I'm rubbish at it).

Then came the jumpers. How to wash wool and not ruin it? Like so: get a bucket of lukewarm water with a drop or two of colour washing liquid. Knead the jumper in the water like you would dough; let it sit for five minutes; squeeze out water and soap, dunk in fresh water, again kneading (this time kneading out the soap). Again squeeze out, rinse with fresh water, repeat. Then here comes the fun part: lay out jumper on a towel; roll it up then place on the floor and stamp on it (such fun!) - this gets out any excess water, leaving the jumper only damp. Then lay flat to dry (may take up to two days depending on thickness of jumper).

In preparation for my new room, we washed all sorts of linens and towels (I'm quickly discovering my new calling in life); we also washed out old pillows (similar process to above, actually.) What's lovely is that my linens now consist of things handed down from my great-grandmother, my great-aunt, my grandmother, and my mother. Everything is nearly twice as old as I am, and yet, it doesn't look it. It's been well cared for for over 50+ years. I've never had anything so old (nor perhaps anything so nice.) The quality of these linens is astounding - it is no wonder they are still looking great.

And this brings to me to my gripe - today, trying to find decent materials isn't easy. Things I bought four years ago in England are now disintegrating; favourite clothes I brought over from America are feeling shabby. Things aren't made to last anymore. In this week alone I've washed, scrubbed, threaded and dusted things that I would have once said no to. Amazing what a bit of soap and elbow grease can do! And vinegar! There should be whole books on the wonderful properties of vinegar!

To look around me and see these women who can sew, knit, mend anything you like; who can cut up a chicken before you can say Jack Robinson; who know the many ways buttermilk can be used; who know all there is about flowers; who understand the mysterious properties of making jam...the list goes on and on. It's like magic. I am stunned by it, in fact. This is not to say my dear mother didn't try her best. I just wasn't interested - there were trees to be climbed, books to be read, mud to jump in, and these domestic things all took patience that I never had.

But it is a eye opening thing when you realise in your late twenties that you really know nothing at all about the simple things in life. During my twenties I have learned more than I thought possible about "making a home" - how to make cakes and bread from scratch, how to rotate linens (and now wash them!), how to polish leather shoes, how to mend a cotton shirt.

There will be whole groups of people shouting that I shouldn't be worried about these things, but I am in fact. I know this isn't 1950 any more, but don't people realise how useful this knowledge is? How giving a child applesauce or mint tea can calm an upset tummy better than some modern pill? How being able to sew up that new shirt you've worn only once but is so badly made that it rips easily is handy? How, in fact, to "make do and mend" is something we should heed in this day of overwhelming waste? Would it be such a bad thing to have entire classes on cookery, needlework, gardening, and how to look after others in modern schools? (Granted, these may still exist in some places, but I can't name one person that I know of my generation that had such a class).

All I know is, I am extremely grateful to be heading off to my new city armed with old linens and the knowledge of how to hang laundry.