Bunting is the death of feminism

It is raining incessantly in Leeds. My son is at Cub camp in this deluge and probably having a fabulous time as only small, soggy boys can. We have had a quiet few weeks: I was ill and then he was at his Dad's so we haven't had the chance to have any adventures together.

Last night he was under canvas so I went out on Light Night Leeds to see art projects and happenings in the evening. It's a fabulous juxtaposition: lots of art fans filling the streets in coats and scarves next to drunken young things in tiny dresses and precipitous heels.

The main sites I visited were a medieval pageant at Millennium square



Alongside an art gallery in a tiny caravan



I also went into the Carriageworks community theatre which had a hilarious Art Shipping forecast which didn't lend itself to photography and a post-it note installation which I used as a suitable medium to propose to David Tennant, should he be passing.




At Leeds' imposing Victorian Town Hall there was an installation considering the way that disabled people are treated but which just reminded me of Pink Floyd








In the recently renovated cells below the Town Hall was a Craft Garden. The queue for this was immense but an impromptu ukelele and kazoo concert made it a pleasure



Inside the cells were items made by the Craft Club of Leeds: knitted cakes, bunting, lots of origami and made objects

















I have a difficult relationship with crafting and the modern obsession with Cath Kidston and bunting. Whilst I love the patterns I fear a subtext about redefining female as feminine and that we are headed back into the dangerous waters that Betty Friedan was writing about in 'The Feminine Mystique' in the 1950s. It seems to me that there's a move back to women being expected to 'homemake' and that this movement is sold as a fun pastime to be sold on Folksy and Etsy as Mumpreneurship. However, the implied requirement to be able to hold down a full time career, be a parent AND then to have a fulfilling home life that involves making tiny cupcakes and sewing bunting just sets even harder goals for women who already are knackered from the impossible task of balancing work and kids. But, y'know, it is pretty.

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Birthday gifts

I have just had some of the happiest times of my life. On the 8th September I turned 40 and got to spend the weekend with the people I love the most. First call on Friday night was to collect my friend Heather from the airport as she had flown in from Belfast. We drove over the A65 which is a beautiful road through the Yorkshire Dales to overnight at Tewitfield Marina near Carnforth. The house was gorgeous, very comfy with amazing bedding. The best thing was being right up by the canal boats and my son loved looking for fish in the water.









Saturday morning dawned intermittently rainy and sunny and we set off for Eskdale Youth Hostel which I had booked exclusively for my birthday party. Somewhere along the email trail I sent everyone a few people missed the instruction to go the long way round via the coast instead of the short route over Wrynose pass and Hardknott pass (now affectionately renamed 'Kilimanjaro' by my friends). As I have a major fear of heights my Mum observed as they scaled the road "it can't be this way otherwise she won't come to her own party".




This is as close as I am EVER coming to that road.

When my guests arrived we filled them with champagne and cake to recover from the perilous drive. And then, suddenly, the sun came out and all the kids and Dads got to play cricket in the beautiful grounds. It was a moment of total, pure, distilled happiness.







The only child who knew all the other kids was my son but within a few minutes all of them, from 11 year old to 3 years were running around together and inventing games involving climbing on the bunkbeds with balloons. It was lovely.

In the evening we had a delicious three course meal and then the parents danced and drank whilst the kids played. It was lovely.


The night went on with lots of dancing until, at 2am, some lost climbers from Scafell Pike arrived seeking a phone as they had got caught in 100mph winds and had come down the other side of the mountain from where their support teams were. There was no mobile coverage nor cover and they had seen our lights. I think they were totally confused by arriving at such a remote hostel to find a bunch of tiddly city dwellers in party frocks. Thankfully, they managed to get through to their support teams and went off safely.

In the morning we blew the cobwebs away with a walk through Eskdale and the kids played in the stream and did a nature walk (climb).











It was with a happy and sad heart that I came home on Sunday. Special thanks to Richard and Martin at YHA Eskdale who were endlessly lovely.

You know, life does begin at 40.

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Location:Eskdale

By the seaside, beside the sea

Today has been a day of tourism. My son has been reading his child's guide to Venice and asked to go to the Rialto bridge. We had a gorgeous morning of cruising up the Grand Canal and then walking between Rialto an Piazza San Marco.











On our wanderings around Venice we found the Ferrari store and this led to endless rapture from my son who got to see this Formula 1 car.





As the Venice film festival is on we had to move to Lido di Jesolo which is a beach resort as we can't afford Venetian prices when the hotels can attract stars, hangers on and press on expenses.

This is where I'm sat. Blissful.




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Arty Farty

Modern art.

The mere words are enough to provoke fear, anger and loathing in the average person. For many, it merely conjures up Damien Hirst, Tracy Emin and Banksy (none of whom I particularly like). I'm sure that many people feel that coming to the Biennale is a waste of time, money and effort. And you know, some is. I have a particular loathing of muddy looking video installations of a bloke hitting a tuna whilst a monotone ArtNoise blare sends the viewer half mad. But it's not all like that and at this Biennale my son and I saw and interacted with some really interesting pieces. He loved it, even though the walk is a good few hot and dusty miles and the Biennale and Arsenale sites took over six hours to complete.

These are our highlights:



Arriving in style.





An interactive room where you could play with plasticine. The colours red, black & white represent the flags of many Arabic nations.





Socks and Rocks.


I loved this cash machine which played organ music when used





Excellent pun: Track and Field.




They look like old records. But look closer.




A graveyard for mobile phones.




Beautiful geometric folded card.




An interactive exhibit from Russia - fabulous for 8 year old boys.




Big Korean panels. Look carefully at the camouflage.




Robotic pieta.




My son ignoring a load of kettles and twirling instead. Frankly, fair enough.




Fabric dragon.




A melted candle man.




Brilliant for kids: a mist installation.




Enjoying art in flight.




The juxtaposition of bizarre art & Venice.







And my favourite EuroSprog graffiti from the back of the toilet doors.

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Location:Venice Biennale

Shopping for shoes in Italy

A lot of things have happened since 1997. I got married, had my son, got divorced, changed careers and changed clothes sizes. A lot. However, back then I promised I was going to go to the
Biennale of Art in Venice every other year of my life until death or infirmity stopped me. Today marks my 9th trip for the Biennale and my 10th visit to Venice.

People assume that trips to cities aren't good for kids but that's not what I've found. My son enjoyed the flight and it was a good opportunity to learn about glaciation and mountain building as we flew over the Alps.



We arrived into Venice and transferred to my preferred hotel here, the Helvetia. which has fabulous views of St Mark's Square and the lagoon.




We went for a walk and almost immediately my son's new canvas pumps started rubbing his feet. This led to buying plasters which alleviated the pain for a while. But, inevitably, they started hurting again so he ended up running barefoot along the lagoon edge on broiling Italian pavements and having to stop at every bench for a rest and to raise his chargrilled feet from the path. Not once did he moan or cry. So, we ended up in one of the most sacred places on earth - a Venetian shoe shop - buying him brand new comfortable sandals. It'll be worth it though as tomorrow we go to the Biennale.


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Scarborough, fair enough

Thursday was a good day. My kids' GCSE literature results were amazing and my actual kid got his second diving badge. To celebrate we went on an adventure: camping in Scarborough. Now, to many, nothing less than body-boarding the length of the Amazon counts as an actual adventure but my son and I see any unplanned trip as an adventure and this was our first two-handed camping expedition.




When we arrived I remembered that my kit does not class me as a professional camper. The average family appears to have a tent complete with fitted kitchen, double glazing and escalator, along with a selection of outbuildings housing their gym and fossil collections. My son and I had a tent, a plastic box with plates and a disposable barbecue. So we were pretty hardcore. We managed to get the tent up, our belongings arranged and dinner cooked in just two hours flat.





As you will observe it was a lovely evening and we relished the opportunity to eat al fresco and walk along the cliff path before clambering into our sleeping bags.

Of course, as is traditional, I awoke in the night to the sound of rain and it sheeted down for the next 24 hours. Undaunted, we went to Scarborough Castle for a heritage event based on pirates. There my son learnt lots of facts including that grog was water which had gone brackish and sailors used to pour rum in to sterilise it and drink it with clenched teeth to strain the scum out. They ate biscuit too which was flour, water and salt baked hard for two hours and dipped in ale to kill the weevils that infested it. Clearly, they would have made excellent modern day campers.







Finally, I gave in to the inevitable and we left the camping stove in the tent and went for pizza in town.







Overnight a miracle occurred. The rain stopped. This meant we packed the tent up in the sun and gave my son a chance to play cricket with some other kids on the site.