And the other thing I've been doing is getting my loom set up. I bought it secondhand some time ago but while I was at uni I used the studio ones and I got a little scared of mine as it was a different make and design. But, my friend Aviva http://www.avivaleigh.com/, came and had a look at it, and with her help I now have a short lambswool warp ready to go. I am letting myself play while I get accustomed to the quirks and foibles of the loom. And actually, although it is a little bit wobbly on it's stand, in all other ways it is lovely to use, soft and quiet. And, it is a joy to be weaving again.

I'm all behind times with my blog because I was writing up my trip to the Dordogne. But just for the record I've taken couple of trips out to Cley-next-the-sea, Norfolk researching for a submission. A submission is not the same as getting the gig so I am going with hope, and a resolve to enjoy the process of applying because it may not come to anything. Anyway, Cley was beautiful on both days. The first visit was on Oct 22nd, I went with my friend Colin and we happily spent a couple of hours beach-combing the tide line towards Blakeney. It was sometimes grey, and sometimes rainy, and sometimes the sun broke through. We saw a seal and ate our lunches, looking inland, next to the Watch House, a victorian cottage built on the edge of the Blakeney marshes.
On Nov 1st, my second trip, I caught the train to Sheringham, and then the coasthopper bus to Cley. I'd thought to look at the church, and the lanes around it, but my instincts drew me back to the beach. I walked in the opposite direction towards Salthouse, along the seashore and then back on the path between the beach and the marshes. 
One of the highlights of the walk was seeing a small flock of snow buntings grazing and low-fluttering on the grass by the side of the path. I had not seen them before and one of the birdwatchers said they were probably migrants from scandinavia. The light is quite low now that it is autumn and I got a couple of quite nice shots of the marshes I think, given that I am an amateur. Also one of a sock on a post which I just liked.

Oct 12th - the last full day in France began with rain. Heavy rain. Beating down on our tents and dripping through seams and small, found weak spots. The prospect of taking down our camp and re-pitching it sometime close on dusk in a new campsite further up towards Calais was not filling any of us with joy I think but needs must. 
So first off we began the day dismantling and packing up tents and praying for the weather to break. The plan was to break the journey back up to Calais in to two parts, taking in a trip to Rouffignac on the way and re-pitching somewhere closer to port so as not to miss our ferry home. The prospect of wet tents and damp bedding was not great.
Rouffingnac was incredible. The cave was vast. It had been inhabited and used from way back. By cave bears, who left un-countable claw marks in the walls and worn out hollows where their beds had been. By cro-magnon man, the reason for trip. And by modern man, who had left candle smoke names dating back to the 18th century. The beautiful paintings made by early man had been near covered by this graffiti over the years and had had to be painstakingly cleaned with cotton buds. It's hard to imagine the care that would have had to have gone into that and it could be thought of as yet another layer of history belonging to the cave. After the wow of Rouffignac we set off towards calais with no sure place to sleep that night.
But, we had Anna, and Anna managed to find us a gite to stay in. So, for the last night of our holiday, we had central heating, and a hot, hot shower and beds and a real kitchen with a table, and lights and a fire and an electric kettle. Glorious decadence, glorious luxury and comfort.
And setting off home, it seemed we were mostly well rested and happy.
Oct 13th - we gathered to thank our stars and vans packed, our drivers steeled themselves for the final marathon drive and set off for home arriving home in Norwich in the small hours of Oct 14th. It was nice to be home. My son had done a good job of cat sitting. Going away had filled me with new faces, new places, new ideas and notions, all good, and had also reminded me how much I love my home, my family, and what I love about my life as it is at the moment. Home sweet home.
    

Oct 11th - Font des Gaume and les Combarelles and another trip to the little museum in les Eyzies where I took photographs of leaf prints on the concrete walkway. Of all the caves we visited I think that les Combarelles was the one I really loved. The visit was intimate just six of us and a guide. The cave was only slightly lit and we were close enough to touch the engravings though obviously we didn't. The pictures were exquisite reminding me of Elizabeth Frink's wonderful animal prints. 

Oct 10th - felt very fragile when I got up and out of my tent in the morning. The previous night I'd been suddenly very sick with a dizziness that allowed me to walk no more than a few steps without dropping to the floor. The view from my tent was idyllic, but camping didn't feel wonderful while I was being ill. The group leader and one of the women minded me while I wobbled through the day. I managed to walk around les Eyzies and look at the small free museum. And later walked a little bit around Abri de Cap Blanc and the Chateau Commarque, following, perhaps, a boar path through a bed of reeds. 
By the evening I was beginning to feel better, the sky was clear and full of stars and wood was gathered and sawn and a small fire pit lit and chestnuts were roasted and stories told. I went to bed feeling better. 

Oct 8th/9th - at St Leon-sur-Vezere we were camping at a municipal campsite which was a different camping experience. It was situated by the river which was lovely, but their was a through-path which made it feel less safe and also less free. Our tents were pitched close to each other and the experience was much less peaceful than the previous site. 














I needed to take time to be quiet so on both days I skipped group activities and went for short walks on my own. On the 8th I explored the village and went a little way out by the river past the small chateau, through a walnut orchard and out to the fields. Not adventurous but nice. 

On the 9th, I woke missing the quiet and comfort of home, and familiar faces. I walked to Sergeac along the other side of the river. It was good to be alone to ponder life while walking, taking in sights and sounds at my own pace. At Sergeac I sat in the churchyard and all I could hear was birdsong, and trees rustling in the breeze. Very lovely. When I walked back my lift to the next campsite had texted to say he'd be late so I was able to wander in a different direction out of St Leon on a small road. And also to take time to photograph some of the meadow flowers and watch the clouded yellow butterflies.