Back when I lived in London, I did a few short courses at Morley College, an amazing adult education institution which offers a range of part-time courses in everything from flamenco dancing to anatomy. What started as a way to creatively fill my days off work, ended up resetting my trajectory and kick-started my jewellery adventure.
I've just spent my birthday in my childhood home for the first time in a decade, maybe more. Originally I had planned on being back in Italy by now, but we've pushed it back a few weeks because of work that needs doing in Ireland before we return. The work we are doing here will secure the second leg of our Italy trip, but is inevitably punctuated with some down time. When I'm not filing and polishing silver at my improvised jeweller's bench, I have mostly been colouring in, playing dress up and dancing around my old bedroom to long forgotten CDs with my favourite pair of five year olds.
One of the really nice things about being home in Ireland for Christmas is hearing stories from years ago. I thought I had heard all of them a million times over, but today my mother told me a new story of something heroic my Nana Murphy once did, which will leave a lasting impression on me.
Anyone who has played with the wax dripping from a candle burning atop a wine bottle will know how incredibly satisfying it can be. I've completely lost track of conversations in pubs and cafés where candle wax is available for the peeling, melting and construction of miniature skyscrapers. The distraction has proved so difficult to resist that, on one occasion, the person I was with snatched the wax encrusted bottle away and plonked it on a neighbouring table.
I've been wondering how to write a blog post after the Paris attacks. For the past week the internet has been awash with sympathy and outrage and, in almost equal measure, assertions that the sympathy is selective and the outrage misplaced. I can understand the outpouring of grief and simultaneously understand the frustration of those who wonder why the same grief isn't shown when the victims are from unfamiliar places.
My square ring with the roundish stone has been a challenge to say the least, and the saga continued this week. Last Monday, in preparation for setting the stone Ignacio instructed me to give it a good shine on the polishing machine. Anyone who has used one of these will know that you have to be careful. Getting tangled up in the lathe is to be avoided at all costs.
Ollie is away for ten days, working in Belgrade and Prague, and I have been a bit lazy about writing the blog as a result. Whilst procrastinating in his absence, I read a disturbing article on the prevalence of pesticide-resistant bed bugs in Prague and have decided that Ollie will have to be hosed down outside upon his return and his clothes and luggage incinerated. I may also insist on him having a full body wax just to be safe.