Think pink...

Think cherry blossom on neighbour's tree with branches reaching into our garden. Think rainy day that needs brightening up a little, perchance with a spot of colour. Think Swede on a mission with scissors. Think father-in-law's old egg cup with his initials and a lovely, naturally aged vintage look. Think pretty in pink.

After a long grey winter, the universe is once more a symphony of colours. And I, I am humming along to a perfectly pitched pink tune...

Star struck...again!

If I were to put every single star thing in our house (with a star shape or star pattern) in one pile, I would beat Jack and his weedy little Beanstalk in one swift starry swoop. I do not know what it is about stars, but I find them irresistibly yummy!

In this picture, I have gathered a few of the star cushions I have made in recent years for the Swenglish home. (The picnic blanket is a bargain find from - I think - Rusta in Sweden a few years ago.) Oh, and a LOVE cushion snuck into the picture as well, entrance granted because of its matching colours... The cushions are all made with a mix of new fabrics and recycled ones, for example my old denim skirt, a red/beige-stripy top my son grew out of, a checked dress, etc.

Like some of the old fabrics above, I hope today you will feel invigorated with new life, and that the day leaves you with a sprinkling of star dust!

A spectacularly blue spectacle...

The bluebell season has started. In this region it tends to mean that thousands of people find their way to the nearest bluebell-infested forest to try to capture the blue rug spectacle on film. This year, I will try to make it to one of the famous, drippingly blue spots for the first time. Awaiting that, I picked some in our garden today...

And with this rather blue and white entry, I would like to send a special greeting to all my Finnish readers. It is lovely to see you here - kiitos for visiting!

... and violets are blue...

A few years ago, I stumbled across this meat grinder in a junk shop here in the UK. The man in the house had been wanting one for some time, and you can imagine my delight when not only did I find one for him, but the next minute saw the familiar "Made in Sweden" on its shiny torso! For a couple of pounds, this chunky Swede (yes, still referring to meat grinder!) was released from its junk orphanage and offered a new home with the Swenglish humans.

No later had the meat grinder clanked across the threshold of its new foster home, when we realised we had found ourselves a rather romantic new family member. More than once have I arrived home to find it frolicking with flower petals or stray pieces of lace. It must be something about the contrast of the hard and the soft, the chunky and the delicate... To some it may seem a little like David meets Goliath, or like a mouse stroking the ears of an elephant.

To me, there could not be a more perfectly matched couple...

The fairy tale next door...

One of my favourite neighbouring villages is Castle Combe. It is a 10-15-minute drive from us, or a pleasant, long Sunday walk. Either way, what greets you on your arrival - provided they are not shooting a film there on the day you come - is a village so pretty it is almost unbearable. I am used to it now, of course, so I can handle it.

But only just.

It still takes my breath away, fuels me with a desire to write a fairy tale, an itch to create a costume drama or at least compose a little crime detective novel, Agatha Christie-style.

If only I could...



In the meantime, I drool and dribble and try not to get too much excited saliva on the lens as I snap-snap-snap up the views, as if I could bottle them and bring out whenever I craved a little castlecombing at home.

If only I could...


The thing is, you see, these are not just some theatre props, this is a living village, with real people leading their real lives behind those doors. They may not be allowed to change the exterior of their houses, should they be overcome by a desire to paint their house cerise. No, that is a no-no. The buildings are listed and cannot be messed with. Personally, I would not change a thing, if I were ever given the chance to live in one of them.

If only I could...

Wowed by weed...?

Do you sniff at dandelions the way most people do, reject them as an unwelcome visitor, repudiate them as were they the scum of the earth?

No, I am sure you don't. You probably see the sun in their eyes, their happy little faces with the yellow lion's mane around. The dandy lion.

And so it were that a few old spice bottle-jar-thingies from IKEA many years ago, became the glass swings that took these yellow flowers on their first ever airborne ride.

When I left them to go into the house just now, I am sure I heard a faint wheee-whopeee from the swinging weeds. Or perhaps it was just the wind...

Bringing the outside in...

Today I invited a little bit of garden spirit into the house. I do not do fake plants or flowers of any kind, but these polystyrene apples have been with me for many years. Today they left their normal residence in the old Turkish wooden trough on the floor, and after some spring-enthused dancing around the room, landed in a heap. Literally.

My beloved crown, made by my kind father after my showing him a picture in - I think it was - Jeanne D'Arc Living, was invited to the apple assembly, and seemed to enjoy the company.

Moss may seem a little Christmassy to some, but in my world, there is always room for some green fluffiness.

Wishing you all a lovely weekend!

A garden of love...

Well, I wish our garden looked like it was loved and cared for, but after last year's building work and a constant shortage of time, it certainly does look more like a neglected child than a pampered one. What I was referring to was of course the translation of "Jardin d'amour" on the pot above.

Perhaps it will inspire to grand and lovable changes on our little plot of wilderness this summer.

Perhaps it will keep the heron from gobbling up the fish in our pond this year (luckily, a few were spared last year, and you can see a shimmer of orange under the surface in the pond picture below).

Or perhaps it will teach me how to love the creepy crawlies with which we share our garden of love...

Up, up we go...

... even if only to the first floor, where a very young man resides in a very tiny room.

When I put up the dandelion wallpaper on the feature wall, the man in house muttered something about it not being very boy-ish.

Alright, so he might have had a point there.

Not the most macho of blokey boy rooms, but my guess is that it won't be long before the walls are covered in posters of unpronounceable music bands not yet invented, and yours truly - the only female in a house lopsided by testosterone - will be fighting for a hint of a feminine touch to the decor anywhere in the Swenglish home. I will probably have to erect a bloke-free zone, where my hearts and I can curl up together and look at pink pictures in magazines. Just to yin-and-yangify the place a little. Even out the forces. The battle of the sexes, in a small, decorative-driven way.

So for now, this little man lives with a not-so-blokey wall. And guess what, he doesn't mind one bit. And I continue to blow little puffs of pink girliness wherever I can. I know my days are counted.