How To Display One’s Bedroom Booties

Bear with me, this one is a little convoluted.

In the run up to Christmas LD:NorthEast sometimes has stalls at local fairs, to raise both money and awareness.  For the past couple of years I’ve stood behind a stall full of craft items including things made by us knit’n’natter ladies.  Amongst other things we have babies' and toddlers' jackets, hats of all sizes, scarves, variously sized blankets, teddies and other cuddlies, snowmen, angels, santas and tea-cosies.  

Last December at the Quorum Christmas Market a steel haired, bespectacled lady of a certain age came and stood staring at the stall for quite some time.  I don’t like to hassle people but eventually caught her eye and put my head to one side in a querying gesture.  

“Bed-socks!” she barked. 

“I’m afraid we don’t have any” I said “But we have knee blankets and…”

“No-one makes bed-socks any more” she snapped “they always used to have them at bazaars and sales of work, but you never see them now.” 

“Well I tell you what” I said as soothingly as I could manage “I’ll knit some bed-socks and bring them here next year so you can buy them.” 

“If we’re still here” she retorted and flounced off without even having a go at our chocolate tombola.

I consulted my various vintage pattern books and have knitted two or three conventional pairs.  Then I discovered a (?) 1950s pattern for ‘bedroom booties’; which are not as exciting as our American friends might imagine.  They are basically made out of a single rib or garter-stitch square; it is the sewing up that turns them into a bootee.  The simplicity of the knitting means they are something almost all our ladies can make.

The problem is unless they are on a foot it’s hard to see what they are or how they work.

I’ve been racking my brains for a way to display them that doesn’t involve taking my shoes off.

Fester, the boys and I have just had four lovely nights in a cottage in Millfield.   

I’m afraid I’ve lost my heart to the wonderful scenery of North Northumberland.   

Yesterday we took the bus up into Berwick and I found myself outside a shop that is charitably listed as an antique dealer, but looked more like an old fashioned junk shop.  

That being said there were some very interesting things in the window; including a pair of wooden lasts.   

I went in and asked the proprietor about “the wooden feet”   

“The whit?  Come outside and show me… Oh them.  They’re lasts.  Come from Northampton ...  Used to make gentlemen’s shoes …best beech-wood.  £10 the pair.” 

I explained what I wanted them for, agreed the price, paid up and put them in my bag.

Meanwhile Fester and the boys had been to get the newspaper and Ferretfingers’ tv magazines and were standing outside the shop.

The proprietor looked out of the window  “I take it Gandalf is with you.”

“Yes” I sighed “mind you that makes a difference from the grumpy Santa.”

 

 

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water…

Facebook Messages Wednesday 14 Oct 2026,

07:59 Bentonbag

Hi. I don't want to depress you but if you were wondering about the wailing last night it was because Felix had a fit, followed by a long sleep which we thought he wouldn't come out of.  When he did Thunderthighs' emotions were released.  Felix has had three more fits since and I'm going to take him to the vets as soon as I can.

Miss Doozer

No you won't depress me

Oh Ben, I have just got on the bus otherwise I would be straight round for hugs.

The vets may visit you at home if you don't want to take him there.

Felix is so, so loved.  He knows it.

Doozer Esq is in and does good hugs

Bentonbag

Thunderthighs has gone to Hextol as Felix was up and had some breakfast before he went out, and the latest fit.  Which is a good thing.   I've a feeling Fester will be willing to come with.

I am still in my nightie.

Miss Doozer 

So is Tom. He knows now - I just called him

Go over to ours if you need him

Bentonbag

Felix shared our bed most of last night, so we know about the intermediate fits.

Thanks I'll let Doozer Esq know if we need him.

Miss Doozer

Let Thunderthighs rage and scream when he gets back

Let yourself too

I did

08:41 Bentonbag

First appointment available 3.15pm so will bring Ferretfingers home from the day centre and then go down.  I shall take Thunderthighs with me as he should be home by then. I know from Matilda's end that that will be the better way.

ööö

For some time Felix has been getting increasingly wobbly and quivery, and has taken to sudden unearthly yowling (like a demented seagull) in the middle of the night; we put it down to him being 18 years old and becoming senile.

The first fit was sudden, spectacular, and happened while I was contentedly watching a recording of The Chelsea Detective.  I sat on the floor next to him when he came out of it.  He stared around for a bit then stretched out and went to sleep.  We stayed there, me keeping in touch and occasionally talking, preparing Thunderthighs for the worst.  Eventually he woke up and there were tears and sobs of relief.

At 10.30pm we took him up to bed with us.  The fit started with an unearthly yowl, he fell off the bed and the convulsions lasted some five minutes, followed by worrying stillness and staring, then a long sleep.

Fester insisted Felix lie on the bed between us.  I wear a nightie, pull the duvet right up to my chin and sleep with my back towards Fester.  He wears shorts (sometimes) and barely covers himself.  When Felix had the third fit at 3am he had his back to mine so Fester got the full value of the madly scrabbling paws and claws.

One would believe in karma if it hadn’t been so upsetting.

He had another in the kitchen at 7.30am and then 1.30pm; fortunately Thunderthighs was out both times.

Thunderthighs came home in good time for the 3.15 appointment and brought the catbox down from the loft.  Felix hates the catbox and yowled all the way to the vets and when we were in the waiting area.

The nice eastern European lady vet tipped him out of the box and examined him thoroughly.   

Nothing wrong with his eyes or ears and nothing to feel anywhere on his body.

“He has a lot of fleas.  We will do some bloods.  We will need to shave some fur off the front of his neck to do it.  Can you wait for the results?”

She took him into the surgery, we went into the waiting area and some minutes later she brought him back.

“He wouldn’t co-operate with the neck so we had to take from his front legs.  That is why he has the bandages.”

We waited, Felix kept up a continuous complaint and eventually we were ushered back in.

“He is very anaemic and his potassium levels are very low.  It could be the fleas or it could be an infection or parasite they have given him.  We will give him a flea treatment, drops for the potassium, steroids and antibiotics for the infection.  Bring him back in a week and keep him in the house.”

“We have another cat, Teddy, he should get a flea treatment too?”

“Definitely, but we shall have to weigh him first, bring him in tomorrow.”

We left with much lighter hearts, and bank balance.

At teatime I opened the door to a tearful Miss Doozer   

“I’m so sorry.  I came out of a meeting and went straight into the ladies for a cry … What are you still doing here?!” 

to Felix who had wandered out of the living room.

He is taking his medication inside a sardine, which he loves, and it is working.   

He had a few, increasingly short fits on the Thursday and nothing since.   

He is much less wobbly, jumping up on things almost like he used to, his coat looks thicker and he’s put on weight. 

We still get unearthly yowling in the middle of the night.   

Fester thinks “It’s ‘cause he’s woken up on his own and there’s no one there” 

and insists on shouting his name whilst still lying in bed until it stops.  

Marginally better, I suppose, than throwing him at my head when he pulls his beard but still not what you want from a bed partner in the wee small hours.  

Last night I went down and brought Felix up to our bed because it’s not fair on the neighbours.

There was no need for Thunderthighs to come on his return visit to the vets.   

This time the blood tests were just for iron and potassium and both were back up to almost safe normal levels.  

The waiting room was again regaled with continuous yowling, as was I on the drive there and back.

The gorgeous eastern European male vet said “Stop the potassium drops on Monday.  

I will prescribe some more anti-biotics and steroids.  Bring him back in a fortnight.  Keep him in the house.”

We’re going away for four nights in North Northumberland tomorrow and Miss Doozer will be doing the medicating.  She’s very good at it.  And it will be a long easier with Felix than it was with Matilda back in 2012.

 

 

Down To Earth With A Splash #part two - Let There Be Lights

The only image I have of the kitchen (2013)

It would be best to look at yesterday’s blog before reading this one.

When I got home from the Coven late Sunday evening the top of the cupboards had been wiped down and all the stuff put back in “very nearly the same place.”

Naturally neither Fester not Thunderthighs had thought to clean the tiles on the wall behind while up there; but of course I hadn’t left instructions about that and domestic initiative is entirely lacking.

The spotlight track was still sparking.

“Did your father use the hairdryer on it?”

“We both did, a couple of times” said Thunderthighs.

“How long for?”

There was no reply.

A little black patch appeared on the metal spotlight track along with the sparkles and, if the lights were on long enough, there would be an occasional CRACK and little puff of smoke.

“It’ll be fine” says Fester “it’s just drying out.”

The black patch kept creeping along the track and by Thursday morning, knowing I was going away to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne for the weekend, I could stand it no longer and emailed Will Fixit.

Hi Will

Last Thursday I had a lovely night out at LDNE and came home to find bath water pouring through the kitchen ceiling and Thunderthighs trying to brush it out of the back door.

I could write more but haven't the strength.

The cork floor tiles are coming up in the loo (helped by Ferretfingers aka Destructoboy)

And, despite Fester and Thunderthighs’ attempts to dry it out with a hairdryer while I was away this weekend, the light fitting in the kitchen keeps arcing, sparking and occasionally sending out a puff of smoke.

Could you advise on an electrician?

And a floorer?  The loo is a little but bloody awkward job, and I need the kitchen looking at too. 

I'm not expecting you to do it because of your hips etc, but you know more tradesmen than me.

Plodding on

Ben

Will phoned within minutes of reading the email and came around at lunchtime.

We turned on the kitchen lights and stood looking at them while the track sparkled, blackened and crackled.

“I thought I might be able to take it down and dry off the back” he said after one spectacularly loud arc “but we’ve got to face it: it’s knackered.”

“Well it was here when Phil and I moved in in April 1987 so it owes us nowt.”

“Let’s have a look at the Screwfix website and see if there’s anything suitable.”

There was, and I now have a Screwfix account as it was easier to have it sent to me as mine was the billing address.

I made sure that there would be someone in when it was delivered on Friday and told Fester Will would come on Saturday to Fixit.

“But what if I’m out with Ferretfingers…”

“Will Fixit has a key” I said between gritted teeth.

I left in time to reach the Causeway a good hour before the 12.30 end of safe crossing time.

Three nights and days on Holy Island in the good company of Pearl and female friends, Holy Communion and Compline in the ancient St Mary the Virgin church, long walks, the song of the seals and two sixty mile drives eventually brought me back to myself. 

The rage finally abated.

 

On Tuesday Ferretfingers and I spend the day at Ouseburn Farm. 

One of the volunteers there reminds me so much of a colleague from my first office job forty six years ago that I swear he could be his son (who would now be in his fifties).  We’ve developed much the same banter as George and I did.

George once paid me the highest compliment a Geordie male of his vintage could “Haway man-wumman-man, ye’r not a woman – ye’r a mate!” (workmate that is).

On the Tuesday after Holy Island George Jnr said to me 

“Well, you’re looking a lot better this week.  You’ve got your glow back.  I said to her at home last week ‘she was full o’ hell the day’”.

Then on Tuesday evening … 

see tomorrow’s blog.