Last week at my Writing Group I learned that the Collective Noun for Archaeologists is an Argument. When the meaning was queried, I was informed it was because once more than one Archaeologist has an idea (generally a differing one from the first) then... well the whole thing becomes an Argument. And I love this. I love the the newly discovered fact, I love its geneology and I rather love the idea of a bunch of Archaeologists having a right royal row in the middle of a dig somewhere. Anywhere. (I'm not so keen on those dreary afternoon programmes featuring Baldrick and his hairy cohorts in wellies in ditches but I'm sure I'm not their target democratic anyway).
So, what have I learnt lately?
Well, as you know we moved recently - exactly a forntight ago today actually - and I love the meaning of the word 'Fortnight' too - fourteen nights - which you probably already knew but I think a lovely word can bear endless repetition. Rather like a Ginger cake which is baking beneath me as I type. (I'm upstairs, I'm not writing atop the oven).
Right, back to the learning. I learnt that moving isn't such a big fuss as everyone makes it out to be. Okay so I'm sure some people get stressy and over-ambitiously anxious about the finer details of the event, but at the end of the day (which is a horrible turn of phrase) it's just picking up some sticks and putting them somewhere else. Of course having a skip helps. As does an endless supply of cardboard boxes, wrapping tape and black marker pens. And a strong, resilient, thoughtful, organised husband but I won't dwell on that.... he's just too damned good at everything and he blimmin' well knows it :)
And although we still haven't opened every carboard box we filled (mainly because the remaining ones say really helpful things on them like "stuff" and "more stuff". One even says "crap from the kitchen" on it which I daredn't even contemplate opening) we have also had to purchase a few things.
Like a kitchen table and chairs. I know. And I know we sold our dining table and chairs at the old house (eBay, how do I love thee?) but really they weren't 'kitcheny. A cottage, into the likes of which we have moved, requires kitcheny furniture and not a solid beech block dining table and chairs combo that MFI knocked up some 7 years ago.So with the help of my old friend E.Bay, I searched. And during my week of searching I discovered something I had hitherto not known.
I am the epitome of Shabby. I hadn't ever realised it but I have been chic all these years without ever really realising. I give you these traits:
1. I LOVE Charity shops. I love them so much I'm keeping Barnardos in business with the amount of books/clothes/shoes/linen we have recently given them. And they even write back to say how much we've earned them too which is SO lovely I could weep.
2. I LOVE things that LOOK LOVED. I don't know why I'm using shouty letters, it's probably something to do with my overall Chic-ness or something. Anyway, I HATE new shiny, crispy, clean, smooth things.
3. That's why I love my husband. he has the weathered appeal of Sid James with a touch of Patrick Swayze about him and his jokes are positively historical.
4. DISTRESS is an art form, not a negative emotion. Something that has endured the ravages of time (or has been made to appear that way) to me, is as appealing as the most appealing thing anybody can think of that appeals to them (yes, you know what I mean. I was going to say 'chocolate' but we all know there are some of us out there who are allergic to the stuff).
5. Put these all together and you get what is commonly known as Shabby Chic. And now that's the only think I put in my search engines these days. In fact when I came to log into my e-mails this morning, Google asked me "did you mean to say Shabby Chic?".
Here's a photo of our wonderful new (and yet so old there's a split across the table that even Olga Korbut would have a hard time emulating) kitchen table and chairs.
I think I'm in love.