August is Awesome!

I am so excited about the upcoming month.


It’s my birthday (29 if you must ask!), I’m off on a girly spa trip with my mum, and I’m also going on holiday to Spain for the first time ever!

I want to share the excitement via my lil' Folksy shop. Click the button to your right if you'd like to see more (I actually had to look at my hands to decide if it was right or left then. Oh dear!)

Until 4th August, when my shop will go into holiday mode, all buyers will have a choice of 2, yes 2 special offers, on my curious collection of collaged treasures.

Like this…

('...Your Secret's Safe With Me...' collaged trinket box)


Firstly, you could choose free postage and packaging on any single purchase.

Alternatively, if you want to buy more than one item you could choose buy one get one half price.

Here's hoping you'll help make these next few weeks even more exciting for me!

Comment here, or message me if you want to make a purchase and I will reserve the item(s) and make the necessary pricing alterations.

Stay strange x

My Grandad

Salty old sea dog.

The only person for whom a beard is not only acceptable, but endearing, and indispensible.

Your Boxing Day leftover turkey curries were legendary (especially when 'teaspoons' was misread for 'tablespoons').

You encouraged me, entertained me. Two Little Dicky Birds, for me, your pussycat.

And very much like a cat -at least nine lives, keeping coming back fighting. I believed you'd outlive us all.

I'm in awe of your strength and spirit.

Dignified, a true country gent -cutting a fine figure in khaki -cords and waxed jacket. Educating me to revere nature, as we explored the moors or coastline with Dan, your best friend ever. The comforting smell of the toast you'd share before we were allowed out of bed.

Mensa-sharp, imparting your knowledge. You admired and applauded intelligence, and didn't suffer fools, except when invigillating incessant games of Bamboozle!

I can still feel the last time we hugged. You called me pretty.

I'll never be able to hear Buddy Holly without remembering you casually crooning 'Every Day' for me back when I was smaller.

Your gentle voice -on occasions when raised we knew you really meant it. You commanded respect, and it was deserved.

Times we spent together are precious. I've been the captivated audience to your reminiscences.

I hope I always speak my mind -just like you. Your forthright manner and the driest wit, not quite masking the kindest heart. The filthy sense of humour when Grandma's back was turned -limericks about the Duchess and such.

The strong scent of your carbolic soap. Your walking cane collection. Your old rocking chair, which I'd snatch a seat in when you were out of the room.

Your open face, and the eyes I think I inherited. I feel privileged to be the Grandchild to have spent so many years with you.

My hero. You'll roam the moors forever.

Harry Lord 1928 - 2010.