A March round-up

Second hand books, volcanoes on film and egg-belts...

It doesn’t matter if you follow the rules of meteorology or astronomy, either way it’s now officially spring. But here in the UK it certainly hasn’t felt like it… March was, quite frankly, wet. My raincoat has been the only jacket in circulation, I’ve experienced squelchy toes on days I’ve donned the wrong shoes, and the feeling of crinkly fingertips grasping a soggy umbrella is all too familiar. As a result, I’ve had plenty of time sheltering inside to throw myself into films, books and crafts this month, so I have ample amounts to recommend…

This month I’ve been watching

You know when someone recommends something so much it makes you not want to watch it? Just me? Since Jack watched Brian & Charles last summer he’s been nagging me to experience it too. What I imagined might be an annoying film about an odd man and his DIY robot actually turned out to be an incredibly charming, gentle, moving and tickling film about an odd man and his DIY robot, that made me unwillingly fall in love with both the eccentric inventor and his quirky AI companion. The movie weaves silliness, loneliness, joy and sentimentality into a story that had me both reaching for my tissues and wishing I also had an egg-belt – that is, a belt for storing eggs, of course. Genius.
(Watch on NOW TV)

Fire of Love – a documentary about a married couple of volcanologists – sounds mildly interesting at best, but successfully pulled me away from the allure of my phone screen with every frame. It’s the real-life tale of scientists Katia and Maurice, who sadly died in an explosion after dedicating their lives to the study of volcanoes. Turns out Maurice was also an incredible videographer with an aesthetic that rivals Wes Anderson, and between clips of Katia tiptoeing around lava with a signature Zissou red knitted beanie and intense technicolour film footage, the documentary packs style, heart and impact into its hour-and-a-half run-time.
(Watch on Disney+)

Close your eyes if you’re not into horror, but I think I might have already watched my film of the year. Pearl is the latest from director Ti West (and a prequal slash origin-story to his previous, X), for which Mia Goth was outrageously robbed of an Oscar nomination. Speaking of technicolour, the film is shot and edited in the style of early Hollywood movies, with more than a flying house’s worth of nods to The Wizard of Oz peppered throughout. Set in 1918, the titular Pearl is frustrated by her stinted life on the family farm and missing her faraway husband who’s fighting in the great war, but, ultimately, she wants to be a star. Told against the backdrop of the Spanish influenza pandemic, it’s an all-too-familiar commentary on the madness that can breed through isolation.
(Screened at the cinema, but keep an eye out for streaming)

This month I’ve been reading

“They tried to cage us. But a Weyward woman belongs to the wild. We cannot be tamed”.
Emilia Hart’s debut novel, Weyward, tells the story of three women across generations. In 2019, Kate has fled London and her abusive partner for Cumbria; in 1942, young Violet ignores the pressures of growing up in aristocracy in favour of a love of nature; in 1619, Altha is on trial for witchcraft. The book intertwines the three narratives with a spellbinding fantasy that had me gripped (and longing for such a mythical affinity with nature) from chapter one.

I love old books. There’s something about well-worn pages that have been faded and leafed through that make me imagine the wonder and inspiration previous readers found in them. A few weeks ago I found a treasure trove in one of our local charity shops, and walked away with a stack of beautiful old books on gardening, wildflowers and nature. One of them, The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady, I had been googling only a day earlier, and had me poring over the pages of hand written musings and illustrations by the naturalist, Edith Holden. I find myself comparing her seasonal observations of the countryside in 1906 with the flora and fauna on my own doorstep, and realising how intrinsically linked we still are despite the societal changes in the 117 years since.

This month I’ve been making

At the start of the year I vowed to dip my toe into natural dyeing, after years of hoarding mass-manufactured fabrics packed with chemicals and air miles. Luckily (due to the aforementioned hoarding) I have a hearty stash of white cotton yardage that’s calling out for a new least of life. A few weeks ago I took the time to wash, scour and mordant some of my fabric before creating a natural dye vat from avocado pits and skins, and have been rewarded with beautifully subtle blush-hued cloth. It’s the best thing to come out of food waste, if you ask me.

When Jack and I first got together, I made him a denim apron for his birthday. It was shocking: I used leather straps that were far too thick to work with, there was glue involved, and needless to say it fell apart. He always asked me to mend it, and I always put it off (and later sneakily threw it away), knowing that my shoddy workmanship was beyond helping. This year for his birthday I surprised him with a new one. It’s made of beautiful Merchant & Mills indigo denim with quality hardware and a monogrammed leather patch, and, this time, it won’t fall apart. Speaking of which, I’ll be taking a trip to Merchant & Mills later this month, and am already putting together a shopping list.

This month I’ve been admiring

I don’t think I’ve ever noticed how many types of narcissi there are before?! There’s usually one bloom that comes to mind – the cheap and cheerful sunshine yellow variant you can pick up for £1 from a supermarket – but it turns out daffodils really do come in all shapes and sizes. This year the verges along our road are packed with them: big, small, bold and muted, and our flowerbeds and container garden are scattered with sunny dots of colour. This weekend I snipped some to arrange in my favourite vintage swan vase to bring cheer to the mantlepiece.

Our front path is currently frothy with a tangle of delicate green stems. To many, they likely look like weeds, but to me they’re the promise of beauty – a sea of dancing blue Nigella flowers that will flourish later this year. We recently took a trip to Daylesford Farm Shop, and discovered in their garden section a large pressed Nigella plant in a minimal frame. Since being gifted a stack of large flower presses from my Nana’s friend last year, I’ve saved this snap in the vaults of my phone to recreate this summer.

I may be getting ahead of myself with plans for summer, but one thing’s for sure is that I’m certainly ready for spring. Here’s hoping that April will be filled with a little less time in front of the TV and a little more time in the garden!

Lorna x