Our beloved Bridport was certainly putting on a show last weekend. It turned out it was "International Band Weekend" and South Street was partly closed off to allow about five or six bands to march through the streets whilst trumpeting out some rather splendid tunes.
Quite how they manage to parade through the streets and play at the same time is rather a special talent, I think. The West Country folks turned out in force, all ages from the very young to the rather elderly. So nice to see traditions like this still drawing the crowds. I really don't know why but brass bands always make me feel a bit teary eyed.
Talking of music, the boys found something on the street market which piqued their interest.
We have been humming and hahhing over these gramophones for some time. As people pretty much into the vintage lifestyle, it was difficult not to be seduced by them, playing out their Forties tunes as we wandered along the market. Beat that for atmosphere!
Oh no! Yet more records for DJ HenHouse, this time 78s, of course, none of your LPs or singles with a gramophone.
Sadly, the Munchkin started to feel a little under the weather, (I think it was the shock to the system of going back to school last week after eight very lazy weeks at home,) but he found comfort with my charity shop-bought bear. Well, I couldn't just leave him there, could I, all sad eyes and growly tummy (that's the Bear, not the Munchkin)?
Me? Well I was more than happy with my W.I. market flowers, there I was in the queue at 8.50am, because that's when you have to be there if you want to get the cut flowers when they open the gate at 9am. And by the time we repaired back to the cottage mid-afternoon, the sun had come out to play.
I separated the flowers out, in truth the Sedum and September didn't overly thrill me, but oh! the pyrethrum! At least that's what I think they are, featured briefly on my beloved Carlton Ware china back in the '30s. It never ceases to amaze me, the colours that nature produces. A last burst of late Summer colour before we give way to all that orangey-brown stuff I've got to love to learn again (sigh).
And did my eagle eyed readers a spot anything over my arm whilst I paused there to pose with my flowers? Do you remember a while back when I started this little project? Well, that special patchwork has transformed into a handy shopping bag. It's been on a few trips; the Festival of Quilts, Bridport street market, of course and joyously, receives kind and glowing compliments on its way. (Please excuse that it's looking a bit of a funny shape as its stuffed with all my morning's thrifty goodies!)
The sun was being very naughty with my lazy photographic session but you can see I think, that I treated myself to using all my favourite vintage prints for this bag, along with some very pretty bits of vintage embroidery.
I lined the bag with a sturdy barkcloth-esque vintage rosebud stripe I'd been hoarding far too long.
The handles I had bought a while back from a quilting shop (Creative Quilting) and been saving for this bag making session. I'm really rather loving them, shame they are so pricey. Good for a special bag but I'd struggle to be able to make bags with them to sell as it would be hard to justify the cost of the raw materials, let alone my time. I'm finding that a problem more and more these days. Inflation, eh?
And the gramophone? Well, we rather fell for a stunning HMV number, made between 1941-'46 which is of course, our favourite historical period. It's in smashing condition and sounded the best of the lot, the cream of the crop, apparently. Let's hope we'll find a last sunny day to take her along on a picnic (for that's what these portable gramophones were intended), but we couldn't wait to crank out a little tune in the cottage garden in the late afternoon Saturday sunshine.
So while Mr HenHouse DJ-ed, vintage style, I was content to sit on the old railway bench with my afternoon tea and cake and peruse my new (old) books, also found in Bridport. I've been after these for a while, with their stunning cover illustrations by Brian Cook.
Ah, that's the life. Just how weekends should be...