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grandmaster-anne · 1 year

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The King’s cousin David Linley on his new career

The Times article by Lisa Grainger | Published 25 January 2023

The Earl of Snowdon talks to Lisa Grainger about his book on English crafts, and mentoring future creators at his furniture-making college at Highgrove

There aren’t many people who’ll admit that crafts can reduce them to tears. The Earl of Snowdon is one of them. At one event, he recalls, musicians including Jeff Beck, Mike Rutherford and the Clash were invited to meet and interact with “incredible luthiers, who make violins and guitars and cellos”. It was “just magical”, he says. “It really did bring a tear to the eye . . .”

Since David Linley, King Charles III’s cousin, became the first royal to follow a vocation — producing handmade furniture — and set up an eponymous business, he has been one of Britain’s most vocal champions of crafts. Which is why he wrote a book, Craft Britain: Why Making Matters, co-authored by Helen Chislett, to bring attention to extraordinary craftspeople around the country.

The glossy tome, with an erudite introduction by the design writer Stephen Bayley, is not only a directory of all the key crafts organisations from Cornwall to the Hebrides but a compendium of some of our nation’s most remarkable makers. It takes in embroiderers based in Hampton Court Palace and chair craftsmen from Orkney, leather sculptors and cobblers, marquetry specialists and even a whip-maker.

Sadly, Chislett says, some crafts were left out of the book because the skills have died out. For instance, England no longer has a cricket ball manufacturer even though the game was invented here, “and we probably won’t make bats for much longer”. Hand-stitched kilt-making is on the Heritage Crafts Association Red List of Endangered Crafts, as is neon sign-making; even bell-making is on its way out, with churchgoing declining.

On the other hand, there are crafts that are growing. Ceramic-makers, for instance, have sprung up in the southwest of the country. In Newcastle metalworkers whose families previously might have made ships are constructing metal furniture. Chislett adds that crafts fairs are becoming increasingly popular, particularly with the younger generation. “They’re a lot more into sustainability . . . and you are less likely to throw something away if you know who made it.”

There’s a growing appreciation of bespoke objects at the very high end of the market, Linley says. At his furniture company (from which he resigned in November) clients loved coming in to commission bespoke pieces with little quirks: a secret drawer with a martini shaker in it, or an inkwell filled with a specific colour of ink. “You can fantasise about what you like and get someone to bring it to life,” he says.

His own London home — “a little flat, which I am very lucky to have” — is filled with handcrafted items that have meaning: a pair of candlesticks that belonged to his theatre-designer uncle Oliver Messel; cushions embroidered by British seamstresses; tables turned by fellow carpenters; a pair of bespoke British shoes made “in precisely the colour and style and shape I like”. Each of them feels special, because “there is something rather lovely about a piece that’s come from the hand of a human”, he says. “It resonates with the human spirit.”

The next part of Linley’s professional journey, he says, will be nurturing others who want to work with their hands. At Street Farm at Highgrove, the Gloucestershire home of the King, an old barn has been converted into the Snowdon School of Furniture, where Linley is going to help to mentor the next generation of furniture-makers. “I am 61 now,” he says, “and it’s time to step back and allow the young people at Linley do things how they want. I have worked all my life creating a brand. And I can now do things for the Prince’s Foundation that are enjoyable and freeing.”

Having made furniture for almost 40 years, Linley says he’s relishing the fact that crafts are becoming more mainstream. “Today you’ll hear Tracey Emin talk about craft, and even sportsmen. This morning on Radio 4 a commentator was talking about a footballer as a craftsman and comparing him to Picasso. That might have been a comparison too far — but there is now far more recognition of the skills needed to do something well. And that can only be a good thing.”

#david armstrong jones #earl of snowdon #2nd earl of snowdon #article #the times

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chazzaroo47 · 5 months

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In the kindest, most positive way possible, your Etsy work is like stepping into a small cabin thrift shop just barely on the edge of the woods, away from the rest of the mountain town.

Where an elderly woman wrapped in a beautiful purple shawl with some sort of raven, woodsy, design on the edges clasps her hands together with a wry smile as soon as a patron steps on the premise, a quaint bell chiming following the door opening.

"Ah! Welcome my dear, I've been expecting you" she'll exclaim.

It smells of lavender, the store is warm, but not hot. A nice distinction from the icy air outside.

You don't know if she's telling the truth, but nevertheless you smile and carefully look around.

Carefully running your hand along the necklaces, assorted jewelry and little trinkets.

A card stand catches your eye, but you have plenty you need to use up at home.

From the cool toned blue bead and metal bracelet with a glass heart charm, to the warm Sparkly fawn glass and wood bead coil bracelet, the variety is endless yet each piece is so distinctly made by the same person.

Just as the others before, you end up circling the store again and again, almost methodically, there's always something you seemed to have missed no matter how carefully you observe.

Where did those knitted hats come from?

That bracelet wasn't in that place just a moment ago!

Such a particularly peaceful aura that you can't help but continue to explore, such a small cabin feeling like its own adventure. A place where you genuinely feel only calm and happiness, a store truly deserving of the word safe.

Eventually you'll sit in a nice antique chair across from her, the owner.

Maybe you talk nonstop, even though you're usually quite shy or quiet.

Or maybe you find yourself listening intently to her stories and tales, though you wouldn't in any other situation.

Her baked goods delightfully creating a perfect mix of melancholy nostalgia, like a memory of Christmas as a small child. Perhaps running to your mom as she rocks in her favorite chair because the storm is frighteningly loud, in her warm embrace you're wrapped and all is okay.

No matter what it is, by the time you leave, you know the shopkeeper awaits again for your visit.

So strange though, you hadn't bought anything, but just a few days after, walking out the door to retrieve the mail, your eye catches a bracelet tied around your front door knob.

It just didn't feel right to remove it, something about it brings way more good than not, you decide.

She happily hums back in her workshop, weaving the next protection charm as the bell rings again.

Oh my goodness, thank you. You'll have me falling off my perch in delight, that's so kind!

The shop is very, very influenced by the islands and the wilderness of Orkney and I'm delighted to hear that the magic comes through. Much as it's extremely hard to get there sometimes (so much ferry trouble this month!) it's incredibly worth it to visit should you ever get a chance.

In terms of the witchieness, well, yeah that's not too unexpected for the islands either hehe. They're a very mystic sort of place that absolutely would leave gifts, if it was so inclined.

#Thank you again #You made me grin so much on solstice night

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inlovewithquotes · 4 months

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She couldn’t face the thought of a world without him. Even if he wasn’t in her life, if he stayed here in Cambridgeshire and she went and married someone who lived in Yorkshire or Wales or the Orkney Islands and she never saw him again, she would still know that he was alive and well, riding a horse, or reading a book, or perhaps sitting in a chair by a fire.

-Honoria Smythe-Smith

#quotes #book quotes #literature #books & libraries #life quotes #relationship quotes #love quotes #julia quinn #bridgerton #bridgerton universe #the smythe-smith quartet #honoria smythe-smith #honoria x marcus #just like heaven

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ofglories · 6 months

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Gareth may be one of the few regular humans out of the Knights of the Round, but she's still got some natural abilities that go a bit beyond human. Nothing on the level of Gawain or Agravain or even Gaheris of course, but still. She's strong.

Exceptionally strong.

It's tempered with training, naturally. The wild strength she inherited from both Morgan's Fae blood and King Lot's giant ancestry is carefully controlled by both years of training and Kay's sharp but careful guidance. Still, when she's angry it tends to show more than Gareth intended.

More than once has she accidentally broken a door, a chair, or even a table in Camelot with her anger.

Each time, though, she followed it up with an immediate apology and a sheepish self-assigned duty to repair whatever was broken. It's handy in battle, even Gareth will gladly admit that, but just day to day life? She's forever glad Kay helped her learn how to better control her temper.

The only time it was ever turned on another person was shortly after Gareth learned of her brothers' actions regarding Sir Lamorak. In her fury she started a brawl with them because she had explicitly ordered them to leave him be, to not seek vengeance for their mother's perceived murder without further information. And they didn't listen. So her temper flared to new levels. Honestly had it not been for Dinadan and Tristan's timely intervention, particularly Tristan and his quick actions in grabbing Gareth and working to calm her, the other Orkneys would have suffered far worse than they did.

In Chaldea her anger is even better controlled, the strength only coming through when wanted. ...Or when she's dealing with Lancelot.

#an endless tale; headcanon #as fair as the northerly winds; gareth beaumains #all the orkneys have the same bad temper as morgan and lot could have this is a constant fact in all the legends #gareth was also freakishly strong for someone without any magic or gifts in the legends #the lamorak incident wasn't super in-depth in the tales for gareth's side aside from the saying “don't kill him” and then being angry later #but it is in fact canon to that story that only tristan was able to calm gareth down so yeah they're friends #her grudge against lancelot is over him killing her brothers and betraying his oaths though #gareth simply doesn't care about what he did to her

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backonthemainland · 8 months

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Orkney so far… Shapinsay ferry tomorrow.

Beremeal bannocks, knitwear, a reflected Cathedral, Italianate Chapel, Ring of Brodgar, Orkney chairs, all around the blooming heather and sheep under wide, wide skies.

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prairiesongserial · 3 months

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23.2

John walked around the perimeter; there was hardly room for two people to pass each other on deck. Not much like the Demeter.

Val was still talking with the captain, Cassidy. They moved back and forth over the deck, testing various knots, and Val trailed after them, mostly silent while Cassidy chatted. John tried to stay out of their path, but it was impossible. Cassidy slid past him easily, clearly used to navigating the narrow space despite their size.

Percy and Gawain stuck to John. Gawain liked the novelty of the boat; Percy did not. They were John’s shadow as he explored, quietly bickering with each other.

Cassidy came tramping back around the deck from the other direction; they placed a hand on John’s shoulder and pivoted off him as they passed. John must have looked as offended as he felt; Cassidy caught a glimpse of him over their shoulder and shot him an amused sort of smile. John did not make an effort to fix his face.

“Why aren’t we leaving?” Percy asked imperiously.

“Glad you asked,” Cassidy said. “Children–I have an important job for you both.”

Gawain stood at attention.

“I need you to find the captain’s cigarettes. They’re somewhere in the cabin. Try the floor first, then work up from there.”

John shot Cassidy a disgusted look, then went into the cabin himself.

“I try not to stand on ceremony,” Percy said, entering behind him. “But I hardly think–oh, goodness.”

The cabin was badly kept up. John slowly entered the center of the long, rectangular space.

“It smells,” Gawain said.

Like fish and sour milk. John shed the crisp police uniform shirt that had kept him warm on-deck but threatened to choke the life out of him in the airless cabin. He placed it over the back of the kitchen chair, which was already creaking under the weight of a pile of sweaters. Then he went to the windows, which opened by crank.

From there, John began to take the cabin apart. He started with the kitchen area. When he had scrubbed it to satisfaction, he went after the clothes on the floor. Then the dust. Then the dirt underfoot. He swept everything out the cabin door, happening to trip Cassidy and Val up with the broom as they passed by on the deck.

The sea wind caught the dust pile mid-sweep, and took John’s breath away as well. He hadn’t realized they had gotten underway. Land was no longer in sight; only black water.

Cassidy brushed a stray dust bunny from their sleeve.

“I think you’re out of cigarettes,” John said.

Cassidy no longer looked amused. John turned back to the cabin. It was well aired-out and as clean as he could make it without soap, water, and more time than he was willing to spend. As John put the broom away, Percy and Gawain gradually peeled themselves from the walls and let themselves explore. Percy went halfheartedly for the books stacked by Cassidy’s bed, while Gawain returned to John’s shadow.

John went back to the kitchen. He began to open cabinets. There was a gas burner and a working tap.

“You’re hungry,” John said, pulling down plates.

Gawain nodded. The boat rocked unpleasantly; one of the kitchen drawers rolled open on its own. John closed it.

Cassidy didn’t have much to eat onboard. John found half a loaf of two-day-old bread in one of the cabinets and a jar of pickled eggs and wild onions under the sink. There was butter, canned fish, a canister of coffee, tea, and powdered milk. John stared down at what he’d collected. Gawain looked also, his expression dark.

“Bread and butter, please,” Gawain said.

John found a good knife and began to carve Gawain a slice from the loaf.

Behind him, the cabin door opened. Cassidy came in, still talking.

“--which is how I came to be known as ‘The Hero of Orkney,’ and why I’ve never been back to Scotland since,” they called back over their shoulder to Val. “There they are.”

Cassidy moved into John’s space. Their carton of cigarettes sat in the window behind the sink, but John was in the way. Cassidy leaned back against the countertop, almost nose to nose with him.

“Pass me those down, would you, love?”

John finished cutting a second slice of bread, this one for Percy.

“Get it yourself,” he said. He did not move out of the way. He opened the pot of butter and spread it generously over the two pieces of bread.

Unfazed, Cassidy continued to talk. “I was just telling your friend that I’m a bit famous in the Scottish islands. Have a warrant in Inverness, of course, but you can’t please everyone.”

They leaned forward, straining to reach their cigarettes, but their fingers couldn’t quite close around the box. John regretted telling them to get it themself. They hadn’t touched him, but goosebumps raised on his bare arms. They raised their eyebrows at him, much too close.

John reached out and grabbed the cigarettes, tossing them to the other side of the cabin. Cassidy gave a disbelieving huff, but went after them. As soon as Cassidy was out of the way, John put the police shirt back on over his undershirt.

“Boys, food,” he said, still doing up the last button.

“You didn’t have to throw them,” Cassidy said. “I’m not a dog.”

Well, I am. John stared at them over the heads of Percy and Gawain, who ate the stale bread as fast as they could without choking. It was a strange thought, but it struck true. He’d given Cody his gun so he wouldn’t feel so out of control, but he’d gone right to violence in the tunnels, and he’d had a knife at hand ever since. He felt more like an animal than a person.

“Those are some scars,” Cassidy said. They lit a cigarette, then wandered back to John again, holding the box out to him. “There a story there?”

“No,” John said. It took him a minute to realize they must have meant the scars on his back. Cody was the only one who was supposed to know about those. He hesitated over the cigarettes, then crossed his arms over his chest, unhappy with the goosebumps that wouldn’t go down. Cassidy took the cigarettes back.

“Okay, well, two Americans and a couple of princes, you must have a few stories between you.” Cassidy gestured for one of them to talk. “Give me something.”

The boat passed through a choppy patch of water; the same drawer as earlier sprang open.

“–In a moment,” Cassidy said. They jogged back outside the cabin, cigarette pinched between their fingers.

Val deflated against the closed door.

“They’re–they’re not bad,” he said.

“Don’t like them,” John said.

“I’d like a story,” Gawain said, just as Percy carefully set down the book he’d brought with him to the table.

“I wish I’d applied myself to Dutch,” he said with a little sigh. “The characters are interesting, but I haven’t the vocabulary.”

“They were telling me some interesting things earlier,” Val tried again. John gave him a doubting look. “I asked them why they were banished from Germany. They were saying they’d wanted to marry this girl, but she was the daughter of this, uh–governor sort of figure. So they got married in secret. I imagine that had something to do with it.”

“What happened to the girl?” Percy asked.

Val shrugged. The cabin fell silent until Cassidy returned.

“Will you tell the story of how you were banished?” Gawain chirped. He had eaten all his bread except the crust, which Percy nibbled at.

Cassidy let the cabin door close behind them. They were wet with ocean spray, and their face was red. The contrast drew attention to scars that John hadn’t noticed before–two on one cheek.

“What’s that?” they said, out of breath. “How I was banished? Where from?”

“Germany,” John said. “Where else have you been banished?”

Cassidy slowly smiled at him. “Sorry, John, I think I only have time for one story.”

John looked away. He felt a sharp surge of annoyance.

“The story of how I was banished from Germany,” Cassidy said. They sat down on the floor, their back to the cabin door. “Let’s see–this was a good twelve years ago now. I was working for the Altgraf zu Hamburg, who was a noble and fair man well-deserving of his rule. Do you like books?”

Cassidy had turned this question on Percy. Both boys had moved closer in order to hear the story. Percy nodded.

“zu Hamburg was a great collector of books in all languages, with a personal library so large that it required its own librarian–that was me. As such, I was thrust in the path of Emilia, zu Hamburg’s only daughter. We were instantly in love. She had hair of gold that, when she let it down, would tumble in ringlets all the way to her waist. As her legally wed, I’m one of the few that have seen it.” Cassidy sighed. “Of course, eventually she had to tell her father about the marriage, and he was so angry that he banished me, never to step foot again on German earth.”

“That’s awful,” Percy said. John noticed he fidgeted anxiously with his fingers in his lap. “What about Emilia?”

“Emilia…” Cassidy tilted their head back against the door. “For many years, I thought she would wait for me to find my way back to her. Before I left, she gave me a gift of a lock of her hair and a promise that no one would ever see her hair again but me. But years passed, and I couldn’t bring myself to go to her. How could I? I couldn’t expect her to leave the privileges of a countess for an impoverished servant without a country.” Percy nodded along. “Still, I would talk about her wherever I went, about the girl with the golden hair that waited for me. I was in Brussels perhaps five years ago–telling this same tale–and I was in my cups, so I decided to show the man Emilia’s lock. I must have wept as much as boasted by the end of my tale, and the man took pity on me. He held the lock of Emilia’s hair in his palm and he said: ‘I often visit Hamburg on business. In one year’s time, meet me back here in this pub, and I’ll tell you if your wife still waits for you.’”

Cassidy paused, their gaze traveling first to Percy and Gawain, then to Val and John. They smiled at John. They kept doing that. John made a questioning face, but Cassidy had already turned away.

“I made sure I was in Brussels at the time we’d decided, not really believing that the stranger would keep his word,” Cassidy continued. “Well, the man did return. He returned, and he gave me this.” Cassidy reached into his jacket, fumbling for something in the interior pocket. “He said, ‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but your Emilia gives up her lock without a key. In fact, one barely has to knock.’”

Cassidy pulled two matching loops of blond hair from their jacket, both tied with the same red ribbon. Percy gasped in horror; Gawain didn’t appear to understand. Cassidy returned both locks of hair to their jacket pocket. “Anyway,” they said, “That’s my time. I want to hear a story from John. You’re ready enough with a knife; surely you have a tale of daring-do.”

John stepped forward to lean against the chair piled with sweaters; Cassidy winced as the wood creaked.

“No,” John said.

He could feel Cassidy’s eyes searching his face again, waiting for him to say more. Instead, he turned towards the table to silently cut himself a slice of bread.

23.1 || 23.3

#story

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larsencarver81 · 9 months

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Alberta Camping Places Koa Campgrounds

The domes are an genuine glamping experience in one of many quietest settings and might sleep up to 4 people. The domes are extremely snug with a queen mattress, a sofa bed, a chair swing, a propane fireplace and a compostable rest room (located outside). At evening, the dome has a star constellation projector lamp to shine on the dome’s wall for ambiance. One wonderful option is the Dead End Road campground, just 10 minutes from the city middle. This campground options over 50 giant and spacious sites for tents or RVs, plus some pull-through sites are excellent for car camping. There’s also a lakefront beach, swimming area, playgrounds, and a basketball court for teenagers. If you’re looking for something more rustic, try Blue Quill Campground, about 25 minutes from town. This campground has thirteen sites tucked away within the woods, and you can take pleasure in tranquil environment whereas still being close to all of the amenities Edmonton has to offer. With so many options, each amazing in its own proper, essentially the most difficult part might be deciding the place you must go. Explore and discover info on Alberta's provincial park system and knowledge and assets on camping in Alberta. Our partnerships with airport parking amenities provide Guests with a discount offer for parking at their safe lots. If you’re in search of a free camping spot in Alberta, Slawuta Pond is a superb choice. This pond is positioned simply exterior of Edmonton, and it’s perfect for camping if you’re on the lookout for a peaceable location. For Edmontonians eager to reap the advantages of Alberta’s mountain surroundings and panoramic views, there are numerous wonderful – and lesser-known – campsites close to home. You’ll discover the proper slice of wilderness only a half hour from Edmonton’s brilliant lights at Elk Island National Park. Park and camping site in the area; the positioning can cater up to 288 individual sites, each outfitted with full service. Less than an hour’s drive from Edmonton is Elk Island National Park. The road to the view is gravel, so be prepared for tough driving. If you’re looking for a more remote camping expertise, take a look at one of many paid campsites in the area. If you’re on the lookout for a free camping spot in Edmonton, Alberta, you should check out Horsethief Canyon Viewpoint. Smoky Lake camping This ranch presents free camping among its many attractions, corresponding to a petting zoo, trails, and extra. You also can enjoy the views of the Rocky Mountains from right here. To get to the Orkney Hill Viewpoint, take Highway 22, west of Edmonton. From shopping to mini putt, bowling to the infamous indoor roller coasters, there's something for everyone. You're in luck, as Edmonton is named Canada's Festival City. If you find yourself in Edmonton in mid-July, remember to hit up the Edmonton International Street Performer's Festival. Below you'll find some nice Edmonton Long Term and Year Round Campgrounds and RV Parks. You can browse the places to remain by clicking on a vacation spot. Use the left facet hyperlinks to find more parks and resorts, hotels, bed and breakfast inns, tourist sights, eating places, and more. What are a variety of the family-friendly campgrounds that you just go to which would possibly be nearer to Edmonton? The children love going to this campground in the summertime due to their Interpretive Programming particularly the theatrical performances. There are many other actions obtainable like Geocaching (you can rent a GPS unit and explore the park to search out 4 caches “hidden” by a Mystery Animal). From yurts and tipis to a full on glamping experience, you dont have to go far to rest and recharge. On the outskirts of the city are a number of campgrounds for these looking for a quick getaway, particularly if you are looking for an RV park. Popular spots include the realm where the North Saskatchewan River passes via the town of Devon. Alberta’s capital city is an easy jumping off point to lakes and forested parkland camping. In addition to being a snowmobiling sizzling spot, Whitecourt has also made a name for itself on the earth of quadding. The Whitecourt ATV Club maintains the native trails and hosts meet and greets, parades and different enjoyable community occasions to get everybody involved.

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joelymae · 1 year

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3. How does this subject area relate to the bigger picture of your own area of expertise? Have you explored similar concepts before? Talk about a project (s) you have done in specialism that is relevant either conceptually or technically. Which mediums, techniques, materials that you have mastered on the course so far could you utilise in your FMP?

In A Wild Exchange we explored the topic of craft as a whole. The project taught me a lot about craft, specifically in Surrey and the Watts Gallery where the project was centered. Throughout the project we investigated the site and its history of craft. Our group looked at how craft is inherently linked with the natural world and heritage. We created a cross-shaped structure with 4 corners to seat three people (to represent the generations), the last section is positioned around a tree. We wanted to reference Mary Watt’s Scottish heritage so we created the screens by weaving strips of bamboo, to recreate the look of an Orkney chair. These chairs woven from straw were a key reference for us, we were interested in how they were made for their insulative properties from humble materials. The weaving process was incredibly slow and required much preparation for the bamboo to bend, however I found the process incredibly rewarding and loved the final outcome. I really enjoyed the whole of this project, from research to making and would love to investigate other areas of the world and their relationship with craft.

I also used weaving in my Waste Not project, where I reconstructed old climbing ropes into a chalk bag. Once again, the process was time consuming, but I was very pleased with the fabric I created. Weaving, and other textile processes, will definitely become a focus of my final major project as I have the most experience and interest in them over other craft processes. The sustainability aspect of this project is also something I hope to incorporate in my FMP, especially considering how the textile industry is one of the most polluting.

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grandmaster-anne · 2 years

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#queen mother

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nehswritesstuffs · 1 year

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Selkie AU question: Is Ian into celebrating Christmas or does it perplex him with him being a selkie?

New to the blog and don’t know what I’m talking about? The go ahead and check out my Doctor Who Whouffaldi selkie!AU: The Seal Man of North Ronaldsay! It’s on tumblr, FFN, and AO3.

If Ian's allowed to know what IRC and Skype are, then I think he’s allowed to know what Christmas is, lol, and besides, if the canon version of the Doctor loves [secular] Christmas, then his AU version’s allowed too

Long version, though, is that the thing about Human religions and supernatural/fantasy folk creatures is that a lot of people like to imagine that they are very separate, and that the dividing line is a hard, clear one. If that’s how someone wants to approach their writings of such beings, that’s fine and I have no problem with it. I do it myself. An alternative that I like to indulge every so often, however, in is having these fae and fantasy beings just sort of latching onto Human culture, with sometimes religion being included. If you think about Christmas, there’s plenty of the Northern Hemisphere/European-based traditions that can be traced to folk belief and pre-Christian indigenous religions. While I’m not going to get into the logistics and morality of absorbing other traditions like this (bc trust me when I say that people have canceled Christmas due to numerous perceived moral complications and I’m not here to poke that beast (other than to say fuck the Puritans)), I also am sort of obliged to point out that for the most part, the United Kingdom--and Scotland by extension--is a culturally Christian nation. What does that mean? Well, that even people who don’t consider themselves religious or Christian still do things like exchange gifts on Christmas and get the day off work and enjoy the traditional seasonal foods and all that. There’s too much long-term, latent Christianity in Scottish culture* for one to really think that it never got to the fae, especially one of their numbers who has walked amongst mortals before. The same can be said for other religion-influenced cultures as well! If the setting was strongly Jewish, then he’d likely casually observe holidays like Rosh Hashanah, or if it was a very Islamic area then it’d be about the varying Eids and customs around them, or something with a Buddhist flair for appropriate areas, so on and so forth. Fae are waayy too curious about mortals and their customs to not learn a thing or two about our religions and cultures. They might not always understand in the way that we do, but they’re not your grauntie who literally needs to wear a LifeAlert button just to go from her people-watching chair to get a glass of water in the middle of watching Judge Judy and still only has a touch-dial landline phone. I think the Fair Folk care capable of being more with-it than we all think.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

*as well as Nordic culture, which had a heavy influence on the Orkneys, being that Norway owned them for a time and all, though that’s an interesting case considering how/when the Christianization of the Nordics compared to the Isles was just different enough to matter in how it permeated and presented itself within society but hey I’m no scholar just a weirdo with a lot of access to heavily-sourced wiki articles, loved reading history textbooks cover-to-cover as a kid, and a curiosity for learning about things I would never need knowledge of in my normal life if not for a single detail in a fic or answering an anon ask

#as both an American and a Papist hellion it is my duty to disrespect the Puritans at any and all occasion #those fckers are in my blood and yet my nation STILL suffers hundreds of years later via whitewashed propaganda #*deep breath*#ANYHOW #Whouffaldi selkie AU #Greyface replies #replies #Ian is an intelligent enough character I think he can figure out Christmas while still being amusedly baffled #Clara lets out a sigh of relief #everything is normal and lowkey

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backonthemainland · 8 months

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It’s the end of the day on Orkney (pictures later) and I’m having a quick cuppa before dinner. I want to tell you about this place, in the spirit of the series of hotel adventures.

This is a flat in town, and I have no issues with it at all, except for the adventure and quirkiness of it that is worthy of note.

It is in a pedestrianised area of town, so coming off the ferry in the dark and the rain at 11.15pm, it’s a bit disorientating to park the car and note that the parking fees start at 9am, so making a mental note to rush down, fully dressed, by then, in the morning, and then weaving through rainy and slippery streets in sandals, to find a very well hidden door in a tiny alleyway. Navigating a key code safe with a tired head is not as easy as it might sound. And then lots of stairs to wind your way to the attic of a building.

But then at the top, a sweet little flat was waiting.

It’s perhaps safer to book a recognised hotel chain such as Premier Inn or Travelodge in order to know what you’re getting - it’s pretty standard, like the menu at McDonalds and you are unlikely to have too many nasty surprises.

But - the key point here - there is little room for nice surprises, either. There were some of each in this flat, which made more of the adventure.

The odd things first - the ceiling around the bed requires World Champion standard limbo dancing skills in order to navigate, especially at night. I’m grateful for the inch in height that I seem to have mislaid in my 50s. It came in handy. Less of me to bend in half.

Also, the carefully placed mirror propped against the bathroom wall gave me an unexpected (and not entirely welcome) view of my derrière on the toilet as I scanned the room for where I’d put my wash bag in a hurry, the previous night. The mirror is a gift that keeps on giving as it is also spectacularly well placed for giving me a superb view of my cellulite on my thighs, while brushing my teeth. Having watched the Barbie movie on the ferry last night, I know exactly how much this should be screamed/shrieked over. And followed up (in the late night, double feature picture show) by Haunted Mansion, complete with plenty of mirror hauntings, I concluded that there honestly could be nothing scarier than watching oneself age in a mirror.

And so to bed. To a bed with two stacked mattresses, a la Princess and the Pea. With a flumph sound, you are swallowed whole into the death grip embrace of both mattresses, down to the bowels of the earth, where there is no escape. You claw desperately to pull yourself back to the edge but there’s no hope for you.

We dismantled the bed and found that the slats had not been attached, meaning that one mattress fell completely through the slats. Sigh. We bought a screwdriver and fixed it.

Amusing as this flat’s quirks might be, it has so many lovely surprises. The entire kitchen, complete with coffee machine and coffee. The quality shampoo and conditioner in the shower. The art work on the walls, the chair in the bedroom and the cosy lounge. Proper toilet paper. If you know, you know, right? Shortbread biscuits!

Opening windows. I love a breeze. Right in town, for the shops but just tucked away enough.

And all of this for the same price as a basic hotel room. I can embrace the quirks because it just adds to the flavour of the experience.

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