Not the Donegal blanket blip

... but the Mexican one! Here's the story: a man in the Shambles market is an agent for, and sells, the Donegal woollen mill's brightly coloured blankets. I love to look at them, but got so busy chatting to him that I was loath to stop his flow by asking him to pose with a spread out blanket. It is only a matter of time before I buy one! I should explain that my grandmother was a weaver at one stage of her life. Among other things, she wove a large piece of Harris tweed that, for many years after her death, remained in the old weaving chest that we had inherited. Then in 1999, my brother found it and took it to Afghanistan, where he worked at the time, and had it made into a jacket! My grandfather, too, wove Cladich garter flashes, which are the little coloured tabs of woven fabric that are worn on the socks of kilted highlanders.

Back to Donegal: the wool is lambswool and Merino, and it is shipped from New Zealand to Huddersfield, UK, where is it is spun into yarn. From there it is sent on to Donegal/Mexico/anywhere in the world that Merino blankets are woven! Then the blankets are sent on to Stroud, or Camden market, or anywhere they can be sold. It's a truly astonishing journey when one thinks about it. But I don't want to sound like a school project!

I didn't do too much thinking today. My friend Eileen and I pootled around the markets and the charity shops, sampling food and retro clothing. I saw a fabulous pair of golden boots, but just wasn't in the mood to blip them! I did manage, though, to get a frame for an old photo-portrait I found at my mother's, so I expect that will turn up in my journal some day soon. I'm also listening to a gripping audio book 'Watching you' by Michael Robotham, and sort-of-packing for our trip. The weather is sort-of-squally, but I am expecting that the Atlantic freshness will give way to something altogether more balmy by the time we pitch our tent, which won't be till Tuesday, though we leave tomorrow.

The blanket above is from Mexico, which I visited in 1990. My father lives/lived there, but I wasn't visiting him. Instead, I stayed with a friend who was working at a Mexican orphanage in the province of Puebla. I hope that there will be another opportunity for me to work in an overseas project while I am still young and vigorous! Granted, I am not 26, 36, or even 46 anymore, but one day I'll pick up my travelling shoes again.