At the Open Studio yesterday a number of people sought cards with a musical theme. I didn’t have any because I had stuck to the New Forest, Hampshire and Dorset collection; and Rosie’s were all of London. In fact hers were so good I was relieved I hadn’t included any London ones myself.
Jackie and I therefore spent the morning going some way to rectifying this omission. Here, her genius for spotting potential multiple pictures from one by chopping it up came into play. Because the Cuff Billett pictures were taken in Durley they fitted the local theme, so I printed some of those. Those in the first run were too large for the blanks, so Jackie cut out the individual performers to produce something different in each case.
Our favourite was the trombonist keeping time to the trumpet solo, with a listener in the background. Brilliant vision.
Including repeats of other popular designs, we added twenty nine cards to the stock. Yesterday, Margery had asked where we thought we were going to sell them all. She may well ask.
We were by now running rather short of materials, and therefore stopped off at Hobbycraft to buy more en route to The Firs for day two.
It was mid-way through the afternoon when we arrived. Attendance had been rather thin, yet a couple of my cards had been sold. Margery has asked for two of my framed prints for her Christmas exhibition.
Tom Sebbick’s metal sculptures, little angular creatures with plenty of character, have attracted 
considerable interest, and I was requested to produce photographic prints of four of them to be conveyed to a prospective buyer unable to attend the show. This I happily did.
Jackie produced an excellent Sunday roast chicken meal for Elizabeth, Danni and Andy who had just returned from a family camping trip, and for herself and me. Various red wines were consumed, except by Andy. Jackie drank some white wine.
For some reason the conversation turned to Elizabeth’s childhood and a story about a sleep-over a little friend of hers had at our parents’ house. She was then about eight. On the night in question an apparition appeared at her bedroom door, threw back its head, and cried ‘bogies’. She is convinced it was me. When I offered the suggestion that it could have been our Dad, no-one around the table considered that likely. Come to think of it, upon reflection, I do have a vague memory of such an event.
Andy virtually passes our door on his way home to Lymington. Since we planned to return to The Firs tomorrow and it was the general opinion that Jackie should be relieved from driving this evening, he drove us home with Danni, to collect us in the morning.