This is my "Why Nice Guys Are Actually The Worst" list.

It's the rape you guys, the rape! 

Lately when I've read those lists in various places (on facebook) I've started to think there is a specific problem about everything that's being said in them. Mainly that it's not very clear. They mention things like texting too often and giving unasked for compliments but... you either have to know what they are talking about already or really care to understand it. And quite honestly I don't think "nice guys" do. So here it is! My list of what makes "nice guys" so awful.

nr 1. (and this is a big one) It's the rape. Just in all forms and ways, the rape threats, the rape jokes, the slut shaming and, of course, the actual rape. If you class yourself as a "nice guy" you are almost without a fail guilty to some or all of these.

 Just stop it. 

nr 2. The stalking. Can you just fucking chill out. You can not hunt down affection or vagina (well actually you can, see nr 1, but it still falls into the "just fucking stop it" category). Women are human beings that need time to think and personal space just like you guys. 

Just stop it.

nr 3. The guilting. Or as I like to call it: boyfriends are the worst. Don't guilt anyone into sex, that's also rape. Don't gaslight. Don't trick your friends into dating you or have sex with you out of guilt. Don't make anyone feel bad about their bodies, it's not likely to change, you're not being with a DIY project and there is already a multimillion industry on that, that's going to do a way better job then you. 

Just stop it.

There! that's my main list. It can be compromised into:

  Just fucking chill out. Work on your social skills and chill the fuck out. That doesn't mean stop, because there are more options than throwing your car keys in the river and running people over, it means slow down and learning to read the situation.

Oh and here's an extra hint on the way:

Don't gender people. Don't talk about how you already know how someone will behave because they are "naturally like that" or pretend women are some alien life form that's impossible to understand. We are all human with the same amount of feelings and desires and differences. 

Just stop it.

I think men in general underestimate how stressful and extremely tiring it can be to constantly be in use, like an asset that needs to be evenly spread, and all those lists and hints and tips are all really about that. The wish to be seen as a person and not as a price or a commodity. 

But if you do feel yourself represented in this list, fear not, there is hope! Burn your Nice Guy-Bingo Card! You can become a really nice person without earning any points or pointing it out. And let's face it, you're probably just a bad guy in nice guy suit anyway so now you can congratulate yourself on all that sex you will now undoubtedly get since you no longer finish last, ey? 

Seriously though. Be a person, not a nice guy.

Glad Påsk.

So what is the "real" meaning of Easter? Is it chocolate and netflix as suggested on facebook? Is it strictly the memory of Jesus on the cross and the resurrection, the conviction of my fun-starved cousin? Is it dressing up your kids as witches and painting them in the face because we once got so paranoid that we burned 300 women for a crime that didn't exist,you know that old celebration..? Is it the ancient celebration of Ishtar and the return of fertility after winter? Who knows! I suppose Easter is, just like all the other holidays, whatever you want it to be. 

I see it as a religious celebration slapped onto a pagan tradition and none of them are more real or more important because in the end, they all have the same point. I quite like seeing the old meeting the new in a way.. (and that being the old pagan rituals meeting the newer Christian message and then the commercialisation of eggs! and not fucking ever existing jesus being watered down by heathens because fuck off Andreas.) To be honest I'm really thankful the religious aspect of this season has been taken care of by elderly ladies at children's groups this year because seeing my best friend drift into the dark corners of Christianity before dying has really put me off my annual Jesus-film marathon.

 So this year my Easter will be pagan and my marathon will consist of Häxornas Tid which I definitely recommend if you speak Swedish.

And there is a lot to go around of the Swedish pagan traditions so I'll be busy!

I don't really know any English pagan traditions, partly because I'm not English but also because I think this place has really grown away from it. England has Halloween so I'm going to guess Easter isn't really as much of a big deal.

As a child my favourite holiday was always Easter, it's a lot like Christmas but with dressing up instead of presents and eggs instead of snow. And this year, with Tarot cards.

Ok fine. The lamb will still be eaten!

Nr 3! Because it's hard to forget a 7 yearold saying "tonight I'll be a fucking legend".

Lastly, and in no particular order, here is my 3d favourite drunk history! 

I wish I found more of them and they were longer but I can always hope.

 

And yes, I do let my child watch them. He especially likes the ones where someone vomits because, well..he is 7. I'm not a huge fan of letting children be children for as long as I  can find ways to lie to them or/keep things away because I suppose I think I prefer being there to explain things to him then finding out from some "cool" 12 year old behind a bin or something, but also, who ever heard a child say they wish they could be ignorant for a little longer. 

Besides, I seem to have inherited the slightly morally grey fondness for teaching children to say way too grown up things! 

 

He's not that into you. Lucky you!

Ok so I'm going to make more of an effort now then just posting and half peeing my self. I have mixed emotions about moving on this time, while it's never been that hard before I now stop my self from doing new things because..well..it's hard to re-distribute the amount of sharing that used to go to one person at the same time as I've heard that it's a good idea to surround one self with energy giving things and people while going trough hard times.

That's the coldest way I could possibly put that so let's move on!

This is the second part of "omg I love drunk history so much!": Henry VIII finds a wife.

But in all seriousness..who haven't been on the reciving end of a "weeell you're ugly anyway!". I think she did way better then all the other ones :D

Drunk History

Because this is literally the funniest thing I have ever seen and I literally almost peed my self laughing. Enjoy!

 

 

 

Welcome to my fairy garden, aka the garden of desperation.

Between two chopped down and misshapen trees in my garden I started building. First it was just one door out of clay that I made on new years day. I thought it would help me take my mind off things since that was the day I found out Amanda was dying.. Now it's grown with another door and a well and some windows to follow. I know I will have to leave it some day but that day on her funeral when I couldn't be there I made one last door. 

Who knows what's to follow..

"You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming, that's where I will always love you. That's where I'll be waiting.." 

                                                                               - Tinkerbell

Olof Palme, my childhood crush.

I think it is the voice. And the slightly aggressive passion. I have always liked passionate people with warm voices, but it is also probably because this was a person that was very relevant to the culture and time in which I grew up. Most of all though it is that his name would always come up in heated discussions around the dinner tables of my politically interested family and it was clear that there were many different opinions to be had. And it turns out that I am my fathers daughter after all.. 

In the end, whether it's good or bad, I am profoundly affected by being that curious child who preferred listening to grown ups talk rather then play games and hearing things that I might now not want my own child to hear.. Some people told me that being passionately left was a thing for the young and stupid but clearly that didn't have to be the case! I found that interesting and I still do.

So if I ever had one of those dinners where you get to invite dead people from history the first invitation would of course go to my best friend Amanda.. but the next would inevitably go to the strongest political icon in my life, Olof Palme, my first left wing crush.

And then I would make it awkward by asking if he can read us a bedtime story because omg that voice! Fan vad mysigt!

For the ones that doesn't know (=aren't Swedish. It's completely impossible not to know this if you're Swedish, he is like one of the most famous people ever!), Olof Palme was a socialist democrat politician and prime minister in the 60's to 80's who spoke frankly and openly about the injustices in the world and was assassinated on this day, 28th of February, 30 years ago.

It is amazing that even if I was only a foetus at the time of the murder my dad managed to always be 5 minutes away from a Krister Pettersson joke at all times throughout my entire childhood.

In a series of unexpected events.

It's been 2 weeks today since my soulsister died.

It's really a series of unfortunate and unexpected events that has led these last two months to being the most tumultuous ones since we moved here..

I will say this though: when a famous person dies it's like a buzzing background noise of people mourning a person the never even knew...But when your best friend dies, the person you clicked with instantly, the one who you share everything with, the person so ingrained into your life that you can not look at or touch anything without a reminder...The one who is the slowest handsewer in the world...the one who is the "cheer up voice" in your head..who borrowed your clothes and discussed feminist thoughts and poured you an extra glass of wine even though you know you should really be getting home and showed you the "right way" of lacing a corset ...the one who grounded you.

The one who would be both touched and embarrassed by how much you cried writing this.

When that person dies all you hear is silence.

Silence in the phone that doesn't ring and in the message that was never read. The emptiness that stretches out inside like a black hole sucking up words and thoughts. Silence in your head because of the things you will never tell her. 

Feeling like you want everything to stay the same because you cant bare the thought of her not being there to share the changes.

And I will also say this: I will always be thankful that I got to know her. She was as close to me as another human can be and I will miss her every day of my life. I will remember how much fun she was, how warm and extraordinary..how accepting of mine and other peoples recklessness (her flirty laugh and preference for tequila too). But I will think of you, Amanda, every time I sew. And every time I wear my Victorian clothes out in public it will be partly for you..just like we were and was always going to be.

 I will always love you. 

But things must change. I forgot for a while that this is what life is like. I only pray it's not too much..that's all I can do.

I just have to!

Only because I don't think I have seen the words Medieval and Hardcore Party Mix in the same sentence ever! Youtube knows me too well haha!

This is fucking awsome actually.

4 winters and a century later

Today is a cold day. The coldest in years probably because I usually don't need tights under my jeans but hey! there they are! Just like in the old days. It's my 4th winter in England this year and to sort of randomly celebrate that I've decided to make a list of 5 surprising facts I've learned so far! 

Now you might wonder if they are really "facts"? Well yes. And no. I'm in England so whatever I say is fact is fact, ok! 

1. Food

This was the first thing that surprised me. The food is really good! And cheap! Never mind the alcohol in the shops, the real difference is the cheap food, and it's also exactly the way I like it. I never used to cook a lot of food before, not willingly anyway, but here it's so easy! I have gone from hating food in all forms to gaining weight, thanks England!

*Warning. If you already like food be prepared, their food is fatty as fuck.

*Warning 2. If picky, don't eat at other peoples houses, their food might be good but they cook it badly!

                                   2. Politeness (=Lies)

I actually love their grey area mentality about the truth here sometimes! Now, this was not surprising in one way, the Brits are world renowned for their politeness..and I really like it in the way where people talk to me in the queue and say hello when we barely know each other but.. I was surprised how this mutates as you get to know people. Politeness is very often a thinly veiled lie. And that's fine in random conversations at the busstop or when almost bumping into someone in the street..It's even a good thing when you just need to be nice and tell a white lie to make someone feel good! But the English lie a lot! Try to actually get something done or have an honest conversation and it becomes like a metaphorical lego pit. You don't want people lying to you about important paperwork! You don't want your friends to hurrying for "sorry" and "a cup of tea" when actually..there are important things that can't be solved by mountains of politeness..

 

3. School

I can't escape this one. By far the biggest cause of stress in my English life. It's bad. That pretty much sums it up! It's like a bank where you put your kids for 6 hours a day and it takes them 3 years to learn to write. It's inefficient, it's badly structured and I bet the teachers are run like machines in the money factory. But most of all I was surprised, not at how bad it was (England is also world renowned for that) but at how ignorant people are about it, for example other ways it could be done and is done around the world, and how unwilling they are to admit it! I'd send my child to a shit school if I had to, but don't polish the turd..! for fucks sake, don't embarrass your selves. If you want to be backwards and driven by housepoints like in Harry Potter, stand up and say so! You have lots of things that compensate for it so just leave the turd or fix it. Either way makes you look less like a stubborn 2 year old.

4. The Empire

Firstly I want to say that I have watched a lot of British historical documentaries. Probably all of them. Ruth Goodman is the historical documentary-love of my life, closely followed by Lucy Worlsly and Kate Williams! So yes, I knew of the empire. What I didn't know was that it's still here. I knew the moment I moved here that I was now in the empire. It's unmistakeable. It lives on in the old fashioned ways they do things and in the boilers and charities and afternoon teas. The empire is still alive in society and in peoples minds. But it's so ingrained and introvert that they don't see it, not really. 

I really have a love/hate relationship with this because even if it does make life less equal and less efficient...it also radicalises people. And I did always want to go back in time. 

*Warning. It can come with some facepalming statements,such as "They knew we were British so they just swapped over to English".

5. Wellies

Lastly, if you as a supposed Scandinavian or other nationality from a country where damp is not part of your morning routine (haha, you will get that later!) are thinking of moving to Britain...get some waterproof clothes. Wellies specifically. There is nothing so cold as walking in wet shoes as the drizzle seeps into your clothes. I think that, and the differens in bacteria, is the reason so many of us get so very ill at first here.

I'd add that the damp ruins the houses as well so look out for a good one but...don't kid your selves, you're immigrants in the empire now, buckle up!

#Not all Gerbybor

Now, unless you're one of those Brits that genuinely believe that nothing important happends outside this country, you have probably heard of the wave of "racist-feminists" occurring after the mass sexual assaults this last New Years Eve. A racist-feminist is a person (usually male) that chose to believe that only immigrants commit sexual assaults to feel more justified in being racist. They don't care for equality, they just use the word feminism to further their own cause because it makes them sound more relateable. (Again, in other countries, being a feminist is a relateable thing). 

Ok, so, in response to that people have flooded facebook with stories of their own experiences, most of them way before immigration was as much of a thing as it is now to highlight that sexism is not a race problem, it's a gender problem. 

Ex: If it was a race problem there would be Syrian women cornering men in town as well. And we wouldn't have any rape stories pre-dating 2010ish.

Now we all know that the world is more sexist in some places then others. That was never a question, of course it is. But you can't integrate people and expect them to act better then us, can you? Point is, only when we share our stories can we start to understand what actually happens. I know many of the people that has shared their stories..that was actually more shocking than that I also knew the people they talked about. Why? you should know why..

When I was 13 years old I started highschool just like any other Swedish child. For reasons that now seem silly I had ended up in a different class than my friends and I wasn't hugely popular in my new class. But I was fine with it, I was quite an introvert teen.

I have always had the fortune/misfortune to be relatively pretty. I say that in a mixed way because while it is undoubtedly a perk generally, it also makes people make certain assumptions on ones availability. And in my new class there was a boy who fancied me. Of course there was. And he did what "boys do". Pinching, throwing things, squeezing me, pulling my hair, poking me with rulers, shouting things..stalking me at gym lessons so I didn't dare to change..the list goes on. Well, everyone else thought this was adorable. "He is just in love with you". Even the popular girls in the class insinuated that if I let him go on I might get to join them at lunch and such important teenage things.. But I remember the uneasy feeling.. He would sneak up and sit behind me all the time..pushing his table against me. His friends would all help him out by trapping me so I could never get away. I asked my teacher to move me to a different desk so I could focus in class (it was history ffs!). He did but it didn't help, they followed me everywhere. 

So one day, at a history lesson, I stood up and pushed the table as hard as I could back at him, looked him in the eyes and said: " I would never fancy anyone as fat and creepy as you so get you fucking hands off me."

Silence.

They sent me to the school psychologist and I got to change class. For at least the rest of that year I kept my headphones on while walking trough the library and in the corridors leading to their part of school but I could still hear them shouting " stuck up whore", "ugly bitch", " I/ he was just joking, don't make such a big deal"  and other generic insults..feel the hateful looks. He got away with no consequences. They all did. As they always do.

The reason I think no one tells these stories is because no one believes them.. Even now that I write this I know that everyone else that were there has blocked this out and I alone have to remember it. And I can imagine it would be even worse if it happened alone, I had 30 people witnessing it and I'm still not believed! 

I chose this story, not because I'm always such a bad ass who stands up for my self damning the consequences, I chose this story because all the others have told stories where they didn't and wish they did..but I know it makes no difference. The moment that person decides to take you he takes your choice away as well. The only difference between this experience and many of my other ones is that this time I don't think it was my fault.

 Not anymore anyway..

I dedicate this post to Victor and his loyal friends.

I'm glad your lives turned out so uneventful.

 

Happy new year!

Our Dickensian Christmas

 Welcome to our Dickensian Christmas.

The pendulum swings back every time and so it did this year. 4 years ago I wanted everything to be as British as possibly could be and now I understood why that tasted like it did (Horrible. Just raisins and horribleness) so to spare my soulsister I decided to make things look like a Dickensian Christmas but make it taste nice as well!

There was goose, we all loved that, now I know what that fuss was about. We all dressed up Victorian-style + one santa claus. There was mr Tudors mince pies. We had candles and oil lamps and greenery inside. There was a Christmas pudding made out of chocolate (with a coin inside to see who is king or queen). And roast vegetables.. (Damn it, I forgot the mistletoe!) We even watched a Christmas carol. Most of all though, we were all more or less ill and that's very Dickensian.

Lots of cooking, lying around, paper everywhere, chocolate and I must have re-done my Victorian hairstyles 100 times but we got trough it

Even if the English seems to have left that behind I think the Victorian Christmas is the prettiest of all so I always feel a bit Dickensian over Christmas.. One thing I can't do though, as a friend of mine suggested trying out, is celebrating Christmas day instead of Christmas eve. I don't feel like integrating THAT much. Much like driving on the left side and not using the metric system it must be a thing of the past that they have held on to. I prefer holding onto non-sparkly tinsels and meat in pies. So Christmas eve it is! 

Later on I found a series on bbc called Dickensian that kept me a little longer in the Dickensian Christmas spirit so I made a new skirt out of a Christmas present fabric.. It's just checked wool fabric but it really fits surprisingly well with the rest! It's also really warm so this might be my new favourite. (I'm not really crying in the picture, I just couldn't keep a straight face in pictures this Christmas.)

Luckily a month and 12 days..ish..is enough for me to tire of the whole thing entirely and I am now very happy for Christmas to be over. I'll probably still make a 12th night cake, but that will be it!

See you again next year Christmas spirit!

Oh yes, I almost forgot! 

Best thing about that is that if this actually happened we could all easily switch and all would be happy! 

Merry Christmas.

Satan and underwear. Two words that would be ill matched on a Christmas card.

I don't know what it is..maybe it's the Victorian farm Christmas in the background or maybe I enjoy the contrast of the white symbolising purity.. but I have a liking for white dresses. Especially white underdresses! So even if I wear the mismatched everyday clothes of the late Victorian towns people (I imagine!)  underneath its all white. I love my white underwear. 

This time I made an underdress for my bustle skirts. Partly because I "need" one but also because I have spent long enough gazing at the bustle-underdress in my local museum.. So here it is! made from one single sheet, which I find pretty impressive because that's not as much fabric to work with as it sounds. I might add more lace as I go along..

So how does satan fit into this? Well, technically he fits in very well! since the Victorians were the first ones to take underwear seriously in a moral way in probably forever.. Aside from other some eras not really having much underwear to speak of and Victorians  really made it into a moral artform (hence the white symbolising purity), they really ruined being naked for everyone. 

BUT that's not something I plan to build on since I quite like being naked so no, satan comes into it via a game that was invented in my bed last night by my friend and soulsister Amanda. She had misheard "secret Santa", the game where you fail at getting a random colleague or friend a suitable Christmas present, and instead it became #SecretSatan, the game where you give a random colleague or friend something they really couldn't or wouldn't use, but you have to put thought into it! So now, lets play a quiz! Of me, Carlos and Amanda, who is who in #SecretSatan.

Answers next time.

Oh and speaking of Dickens fair...!

 

 As a Scandinavian I didn't have Charles Dickens embedded in my culture so my first meeting  that I can remember with a Christmas carol came as a junior seamstress at the theatre. I liked the clothes even then.

I also remember this as the time when my tastes turned distinctly Victorian.. 

Make of that what you will.

Dickens Fair!!

So yes. Yesterday was this years Dickensian Christmas fair in Rochester and it was, as it usually is, cold, crowded and slightly confusing. And a little stressful. But it's still very much worth it! Probably more for the build up than the actual fair. 

Firstly the clothes!

I decided to make a new dress this year and actually started slowly already in September so my dress was finished way before the day. I'm actually more pleased with this one than anyone ever before so I'm happy I went with my feeling rather than what looks most accurate. I like the miss-matched street look of someone not quite as fashionable.. And I like Dickens fair because it feels like I can step into a character that is part less me but also partly more me than in normal life. 

My favourite Charles Dickens character is by far Estella (Great Expectations) or * Nancy (Oliver Twist). Mostly though, Charles Dickens characters are very hard to emulate for a woman because they are so badly written. He is not known for a deep understanding of females in his surroundings so I suppose that is as far as it goes. What I like is the stories and the world around it. I have found that I understand them much better than maybe a girl born in the 80's should.. Some might say though, that life hasn't fundamentally changed all that much. Not for all of us anyway.

In the end I'm more of a late 19th century kind of woman than a Dickensian one, so because of that I made my dress in my typical 1870-80's style. I like the gothic angles and the deep colours. And the bustle does great on my sway back.

My co-Dickensian Michelle went for a more mid century look and pulled it off very well I must say. Or 3 gentlemen Carlos, Steve and little Lus were all in waistcoats and smart trousers. In the end it seems we made a pretty good Dickensian street team.

Secondly the hair!

It turned out ok. Victorian hairstyles are so very sturdy but they take forever to make, even my quick one, so in the hurry I just got it good enough and ran out the door. And my God did it last. I could have fallen down a cliff and get recognised only by the hair, that's how long lasting that hair was. I'm so doing that again.

Lastly, the actual fair.

When we finally got there we were earlier than usually which meant that, even though there was a lot of confused pushing around, it actually felt like we saw everything we came to see (except the parade, what happened to that?!). We had some cakes on the street and looked at craft stalls and rode the ferris wheel.. I dug trough a basket of lace tablecloths in complete darkness. It was fun. Did I wish it hadn't been so cold? yes I did. Did it annoy me that people kept stepping on my dress? Definitely. Was it worth it? Absolutely.

I think this tradition means so much to me because we have done it ever since the first year we lived in England and before that it was something I always had wanted to do so it's become a symbol of having achieved my dream in a way. It was nice to share it with our friends and it's always a little different every year but it's always something I look forward too a ridiculous amount and I think sometimes people find it odd..its just a market after all.. But I went trough so much to get to be there. So if I want to go every year for the rest of my life and always start getting ready in September for it then I will. 

Because Dickens fair is the jewel in my crown. 

* If I could I would have picked literally ANY other clip of her, because showing women as victims first is common enough, but this seems to be the only way she is remembered so I'll take what I can get.

There's no money to save us. But there's always money for war..isn't there.

Today I read that only hours after the government decided to bomb Syria with no plan or idea of how many will die just to prove a point, the army fired away the bombs. 

As I read that my 7 year old was opening his Christmas calendar. That's how lucky we are. And I am happy to be so lucky because somewhere there's a 7 year old being killed by bombs that we sent instead of opening calendars this morning. 

That blood is on all of our hands. It is. And may God forgive us.

Because they wont.

Dickens Christmas fair!

3 days to go! I have all of mine and most of my familys things ready for dressing up..and my friends almost kitted out (yes, I DO have all the bits other people need for it too, I love dickens fair!) so now the only thing I need to figure out is my hair. I say "need" in the most 1st world country way possible because we all know there are more important things in this world than my Victorian hairstyle, such as convincing people to stop voting Tory and drive us into a 3rd world war over oil in the middle east (and I can't believe we think of our selves as more modern than other conquering nations and times, how full of one self can one be?) and if I'm evil to let the terrible school system be my sons shitty thing in life that makes him a better person so I don't have to take the blow and...you know..squirrels. But since I don't have much of a say about either of those things I'm gonna stick to the hair.

So! I did find a really helpful blog the other day where a woman did really simple instructions on everyday hairstyles (without loose hair) so I thought I'd try my favourite of those! Turns out..my hair hates staying up. So I made almost the same one with hair wrapped around a bun but then I left some of it down but it looked a little bit tarty so I'm going to try again later today... I did like it though so I might leave it that way anyway! It went well with my little hat.

The thing I like about Victorian hairstyles is that they tend to sweep all the hair out of my face, and that's something I really want right now that my hair is longer than ever! But will see..

Bittersweet Dollshouses

Today I fell in love at first sight. Or my inner 9 year old did anyway.. I was looking at blankets in a charity shop for my sewing and, dramatically, turned around and saw it. A wooden dollshouse with staircases and openable windows and doors..a fireplace..tiny little doorknobs and hooks for tiny little clothes..lanolin floor pattern in the kitchen. A lamp already plugged into the little outlet in the wall. 

If only it had been 20 years ago.

Made me think of those moments when something so perfect, something one might have always wished for or really needed comes around much too late. It's a kind of bitter happiness isn't it? Like always having believed in unicorns and then you see one on your very last day alive. And I kept thinking how happy that would have made me 20 years ago and now.. Now I have that life I always imagined for my dolls. Almost. And I don't need it anymore.. My vintage posters are now original sized and my bed iron framed..And the warmth I imagined they felt for their bundled up babies I now pick up from school everyday..in my perfect housewife life. In matching clothes. 

It's different with people..People one can't replace or replicate. But with things I do have the initial reaction to want to become one of those sportscar driving old men who finally got it (!) but then..wasn't this where I wanted to be all along? Wasn't my Lundby house decorating my own childlike escape into the life I wish I had? And everything has it's time and place and my time and place was then. Not now.

The dollshouses I make now are very different, they are not to be furnished or played with, lived in.. they are more like and artistic expression. I didn't really realise until I just wrote that line how far away I have walked form where I started.. 

Metaphorically.

So I left it there for some 9 year old to maybe get for this Christmas. 

Hopefully. 

And I'll make a custard tart instead.

10 years is a long time.