The Distancing Diaries - 3rd & 4th January, 2021

 On Sunday the heavy snow that had fallen the previous evening had all but thawed and, for the first time in days, the lads were happy to go out. I made tea, took it back to bed and we lay about reading, getting up just in time to watch the Andrew Marr Show with a couple of slices of toast & a mug of coffee. Bored by the buffoonery we switched off the TV, buttoned up our coats and set off on a walk.

Back in the nineteenth century Walsall's rich industrialists resided in grand houses in leafy Highgate (where we live) with both their businesses and employees in the neighbouring village of Caldmore, the two areas connected by this cobbled alleyway just behind our house. Caldmore is pronounced Kar-ma. You can always tell when someone isn't a local when they call it cold-more!

From the 1950s until the early 1970s, Caldmore changed, with many Indian families making the village their home, bringing with them the culture and traditions of the Sub-Continent. I have many happy memories of this time, the secondhand shop Mum used to run always packed with ladies desperate for warm jumpers and coats to wear over their flimsy saris and of the kindness shown to us by shopkeepers who'd welcome Mum, Grandma and me into their sari shops, offering us glasses of pop and freshly made samosas whilst we marvelled at their beautiful exotic fabrics and trimmings. When I left home it was Caldmore where I rented my first flat, a front room in a condemned Victorian terrace, a house crawling with cockroaches accessed by an alleyway strewn with used condoms, all for just £11 a week. I loved every minute!

Those were the days. Me as a 19 year-old in 1985 with flatmate, Gill and at a house party dressed in a 1940s gent's evening jacket I'd picked up from the church jumble sale hours earlier. 

I last wrote about Caldmore six years ago (HERE) and still get messages from people who grew up there sharing their memories of bustling Hindu temples and all-night curry houses, including the brothers who own the popular clothing company, Seasalt.

 

Sadly in these Covid times, Caldmore has become even more rundown, with yet more boarded up shops and deserted streets piled high with litter but with its well-stocked Asian supermarkets and delectable sweet centres it's still worth a visit.

 

Forget what they tell you in the media, there's no Brexit shortages here! Ten limes for £1 - I wish I'd bought my purse.

In the centre of the village you'll find the White Hart, a Caroleon-era manor house, built by George Hawe (d.1679) and Walsall's oldest brick building.  In 1643, Queen Henrietta stayed here on her way to visit her husband Charles I during the Battle of Edgehill. 

The White Hart Circa 1890

During restoration work at the end of the 19th Century, workmen made a grisly discovery, an arm hidden in an attic chimney. The arm was said to be a Hand of Glory, traditionally a hand cut from a hanged felon and dried in the prescribed manner.  Then, either by lighting the fingers themselves or using the hand as a candle holder, the Hand was supposed to stupefy any person seeing it, thus enabling a burglar to ransack a house without being caught.  

The arm is still on display at Walsall's Museum.

Back at home we thawed out our frozen fingers with steaming bowls of noodles. Jon did some music stuff and I went outside and took more stock photos, spending the rest of the afternoon uploading listings to eBay, it was so cold that I kept my hat on!

We had half a pizza (with fresh, home-grown basil) & some potato lattices for tea and watched another couple of episodes of Spiral. 

After a week of not knowing where I was, Monday felt like a normal day. Before I'd gone to bed I'd put the tea towels on a 90°C wash and hung them up in to dry in the utility room when I got up. After my Wii Fit workout I took down the Xmas cards, removed the lights from my festive cheeseplant and wrapped up the eBay items that had sold overnight.

After our fruit and yogurt breakfast we dropped the accounts off at the accountants and called at the post office within the local Co-op to drop off our parcels. Whilst I waited outside, Jon noticed a big sign pinned up on the counter saying that they were no longer accepting mail for Europe. Thank goodness I changed my eBay listings for UK addressees only. 

I took some more stock photos and uploaded the listings to eBay,with a break for noodles in between. 

Monday's outfit. I buy clothes because I love them and not because they're cheap, but occasionally it's fun to tot up the cost of what I'm wearing to remind myself of what a cheap date I can be.

Today's outfit cost me a tenner!

The 1960s hooded, fake-fur trimmed maxi coat was £5 from the same secondhand clothes stall as my ugly Tori Richards maxi dress. I think it might be Biba as, back in the olden days BC (before coronavirus) when I used to go charity shopping in town, older ladies would frequently stop me and asked if it was. The 1960s-does-Edwardian leather and suede lace-up boots were £1 from a car boot sale and my Radley leather bag was £2 from the clearance chazza last week. The hat cost £1 to make. The hand-made wrist warmers were a birthday present from Liz.

This vintage 1960s padded, pure silk Cheongsan was £1 from a house clearance stall at the Thursday car boot sale. It's like wearing a duvet. 

I've only worn the cheongsan once before, to go out partying into the small hours after a long day's trading at the End of the Road festival, 2019. How I've missed the festivals and the fabulous friends we've made over the years (and my festival wardrobe!)

I spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with blogland and steeling myself for BoJo's announcement at 8pm. I'm expecting another lockdown although to us it probably won't make a scrap of difference. We have booze, books and each other!

Keep safe and see you soon.