Molecular Knits (by sarah)

As part of the Science-Art Exhibition and to celebrate National Science and Engineering Week I wrote up the pattern to my knitted Bucky Ball. I illustrated it with photographs of the process and took them into the weekly Knit and Natter group that meets at Centre Arts in Cheltenham every Wednesday.

This resulted in a triumph for Science Communication - I ended up explaining what atoms and molecules were to a lady who did not know. And on top of this I now have a pattern written up 🙂 I want to add in some Bucky Ball facts and then release it on Etsy and possibly in other places too (it is already 4 pages long! Though that is with instructions on how to knit oxygen and hydrogen atoms too).

Centre Arts is also knitting a poem for The Cheltenham Poetry Festival which I've been too busy to knit any of. I got to see the title line whilst I was there 🙂

Ammonites (by sarah)

I Am An Ammonite is a poem written by Marcus Moore as part of the Cotswold Water Park Trust. I feel very lucky that they all said yes to it being illustrated and placed in the Science-Art Exhibition at Centre Arts in Cheltenham. The poem is on canvas and I attempted to make it seem as if it was in a sea full of ammonites and also a sea turned to stone - all at the same time.

This week is National Science and Engineering Week which is why this week is the week of Science-Art being shown. If you get a chance do pop down - it is only there until Saturday.

If you wish to read the poem you can see it on here on Marcus's blog. And yes I took a wonky photo.

This is How Stupid People Die (by sarah)

That moment when you've gone off to take one photograph and realise it is dusk, you are in a tumble down industrial area amongst broken glass and iron rods half exposed from crumbling concrete. You have £100 odd worth of camera around your neck, you've left your phone in the car along with you husband and kids, and worse you have no idea anymore which direction said car is in. Then just to add the icing to the cake a group of three 'youths' wonders into sight and you realise it was their shouting and the ring of a beer can football that pulled you out of the contemplative glaze of photo snapping bliss you had been in moments before.

You do not run as that is provocation, beside satistically you know that the middle aged man on his own that passed you at the beginning of this adventure is more likely to be a danger than three young men. Apart from some cat calls they are fine - you take another photo of graffiti and as you know they've seen the camera anyway and just keep walking, with confidence hoping it will come out to somewhere more populated by people. Maybe even somewhere you know.

And the monologue that is spinning in you brain is one of half remembered self defense techniques though you do not dwell on them as being afraid in the half light of urban decay is a sure way to draw attention to yourself in unwanted ways. Same goes for the crowded city streets and the apparently safe board room. You keep walking aware of your surroundings and potential escape routes, you do not avert your gaze nor do you linger.

You think, 'This is how stupid people die,' and then you snort with the realisation that you have nicked the quote from a TED talk you watched the night before. And that shunts your brain into thinking that it is thinking and what it is thinking about and the words Third Thoughts sneaks in and you're like damn! Now I am quoting Terry Pratchette in the almost fear - that fear you are not feeling, that fear you are keeping at bay.

The kids are gone, they went into a side alley and now you are in territory you recognise and daydreams of pirate days with real tall ships and Christmas Fayres with real snow filter in your brain and you think - I'm actually quiet a away from the car and the quickest way is back through those buildings that now seem to loom out of the dusk.

So you again consider how stupid people die, but now you have your bearings and know the way and this way is much shorter and there is an old couple out for a walk and they might be lost but they are walking into the corroded corridor of split wood and ripped metal.

You follow and storm your way home, reasoning that you are wearing big boots and a flappy coat and yes it's all purple and your over weight but it is probably dramatic or something.

And you still stop to take photos because things look different from this angle and hey wow that was a fantastic one of the birds flying away and it shall be called The Escape.

There is a world within worlds in this place you walk unwittingly, there are jungles and homes and hope.

And really it is only a few derilict buildings with seagulls roosting, slowly the industrial endevours of a previous centre are being consumed by the small of nature and you feel previlaged to see it all before it is ripped asunder and the new of this centery is put in it's place. Clicking the button on the camera you try and capture just a little bit of the awe.

Ruskin’s Mill Writer’s Retreat (by sarah)

Today I went to my second one day writer's retreat - this time at Ruskin Mill near Nailsworth. It was organised by the same people Writing Space Stroud and was once again lovely.

It was raining and I currently do not have a camera which is why there are not a hundred photos of chickens with feather flares and light sculptures on the water.

This time it was £30 instead of £20 but included a yummy lunch in the cafe.

I met more writers and had great conversations over tea and cake and lunch between mad sprees of writing. I got 9000 words of The Awakening written today which is amazing even if it does mean the novel is going to be much longer than I was expecting :/

I will finish off the last 1000 words before bed to round it up to 10K.

Once home Alaric made a lovely dinner whilst I made some visual poetry booklets out of card, pen, and old writing magazines. This lead to a fun discovery of using someone I know's story title as part of it 🙂

Christmas 2010 (I think) (by sarah)

I think this is 2010 and that for actual Christmas we went down to Essex for dinner at my parents house but these are photos of our Solcist meal and general festiveness.

Jean and Al playing with the marble run.

King Alaric at the washing up again

Garlic Bread - as in bread with garlic gloves in it 🙂

Jeany sort of setting the table

Jean decorating the MK 2 of The Little Book of Festive Poetry - I spent ages printing out out the sheets and glueing the words onto the pictures as the laptop I had couldn't cope with me trying to do things with large files!

It snowed and I remember playing with Jean outside and me and Al taking it in turns!

Tom and Jean 🙂

Jean really could not get enough of being outside in the snow!

It was the first year we found a yard of Jaffa Cakes!

Jean ran off with them 🙂

Sleepy Jean after all the fun 🙂