Category: Beaminster

Artists at work in Bridport, West Dorset

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poste en français

Spending a couple of hours chatting to artists at St Michael’s Studios today in Bridport was fun. Artists studios in Bridport and the surrounding West Dorset villages are open to the public for the week, a great opportunity to discover new talent or have a look at more established artists’ new work.

It’s always inspiring to look at art but I find the people behind the paintings, the photography or the montages equally interesting. That’s what I love about the idea of Open Studios. Seeing the artists working is quite a mixed feeling. On the one hand it’s fascinating to see the image slowly -or quickly- appear on paper, canvas or screen but on the other there is a certain feeling of intrusion.

Some are happy to keep on working, clearly in their own world, their mind inside the canvas, others would rather chat and feel a bit awkward at having somebody looking over their shoulder, and I can’t blame them. The art on show is very varied and I only saw a tiny part at St Michaels’. There are 58 venues in all and 100 artists. Pottery, textiles, furniture, woodcraft, jewellery, millinery, sculpture, digital art, screen printing… Something for everyone?

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Philomena Harmsworth working during Bridport Open Studios 2011

Artist at St Michael's Studio, Bridport
Copyright Nathalie Roberts

Bridport Open Studios’ 2011 launch

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Bridport and West Dorset Open Studios is becoming quite a busy affair if the launch at the Bull Hotel yesterday was anything to go by. It was a really pleasant evening filled with artists and art lovers. All the local artists who take part in the Bridport Open Studios submitted three 6×9″ artwork which was displayed along the long walls of the Ball Room with prices almost as eclectic as the art on show.

Affordable art
Having said that there was nothing above £90 so it was all affordable, even from more established artists like Kit Glaisyer or John Boyd. Many artists were there which was great for buyers who could have a chat with them and for artists who could tempt the art lover to come and see larger work in their studio in the coming week.

How did Bridport Open Studios start?
I had a chat with Caroline Ireland who started Bridport Open Studios in 1999. Back then, she knew there were a fair few artists working locally but there was a lack of outlets for showing their work and coordination was needed to reach out to the public. A few posters around the town, some meetings, a lot of hard work and the annual event was born. It gets bigger every year attracting more and more artists and art lovers.

This year, the team who organise the Bridport and West Dorset Open Studios was headed by fellow artist Philomena Harmsworth who directed the 10 day long event. With 58 venues, some with several artists, the usual August Bank Holiday weekend was getting too short if you wanted to see all the local artists studios (or even half!).

 7 year old art lover invests in an original watercolour
My favourite part of the evening, apart from chatting with several artists and friends, was to see seven year old Sarah proudly hand her £2 pocket money to buy an original work of art from Sheila Edmunds. Sheila is part of ‘Spectrum’ a collective of talented amateur artists who will show their work in the Friends Meeting House in South Street on Saturday 21st. As for little Sarah, she was very happy with her watercolour of a dog that she tells me she will hang in her room.

Bridport and West Dorset Open Studios, 21-30 May 2011.
Brochure with participating artists’ addresses available from Bridport Arts and Crafts, tourist information centre and many shops around Bridport or online:

Sarah buys a watercolour at the Bridport Open Studios

New studio for Hatha Yoga classes in Beaminster, West Dorset

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May 2013 update: Tamara now teaches yoga from different locations, find her details at the bottom of the post.

When I moved to Beaminster three years ago, could I find a Yoga class in town? No. Disappointing. A few weeks back, I heard a new Yoga teacher had moved into Beaminster and she even had her own studio. Things were looking up.

Clean yoga studio

I’ve only been to three classes but I’m very glad Tamara moved to Beaminster, Yoga studio and all. First and foremost, I rather like the fact that Samhita Studio’s wooden floor is clean. Believe me, it’s not a given. I’ve been distracted by a fair few fluff balls and leftover crumbs in town halls or gyms over the years. The only distractions here are Buddhas, candles (and radiators!).

My last Yoga stint was a year of expensive Bikram back in London some years ago. A large hot room stuffed with lots of sweaty bodies. I’m after something more gentle these days. I want to relax and get rid of my back ache that has built up with so many years of sitting in front of a computer screen. Walking in our beautiful countryside is great but it doesn’t improve my posture.

Hatha Yoga

If Hatha Yoga is going to prepare my body and mind for meditation, as it’s supposed to, I want to be comfortable. So cotton mats on top of rubber mats get my vote: no slipping and no sticking. Then there’s the cushion on every mat. I can get my spine in the right place and meditate to my heart’s content.

Tamara even hands us a super soft blanket for the headstand. It’s all about being peaceful and at ease and I must say, by the end of the session, I feel totally relaxed and content.

Headstand did I say?

Yep. Never thought I could do it but today, I am confident I shall. I managed to get my knees on my elbows this week and Tamara assures me that’s the hardest bit. I can’t say it feels entirely natural, but somehow I felt safe. It’s a weird yet great feeling to get so close to standing upside down. I’m sure my brain can do with a bit of extra irrigation every so often.

Sun salute

I’ve always liked the sun salute but have never been able to achieve it as the seamlessly gracious series of postures that it is. I’m positive I’ll know it from beginning to end quite soon, right breathing and all. Tamara is quite methodical in her teaching. For each exercise – which she explains one step at a time, she makes sure we always breathe in the right place, explains the benefits of each pause and she keeps an eye on us, to make sure we get it right.

Tamara’s voice is deep and calm. The studio is peaceful and each session is inspiring and different. Apart from learning the basis of meditation, one of my favourite bits is the relaxation at the end. Tamara wraps us up in blankets so we are snug as a bug in a rug and her smooth voice takes us through an inspiring story or the benefits of Yoga.

My mind did wander off here and there, then I came back to reality. Relaxed. Can’t wait for next week when I shall push myself a bit further…

Namaste.

Tamara: 07754 628 449

Oyez! Oyez! Les Anglais ont 220 crieurs publics

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et ils commencent souvent leur harangue par ces mots, parvenus en Angleterre par le biais de notre cher Guillaume le Conquérant en 1066.

La renaissance des crieurs

Tout comme en France les crieurs publics avaient disparus avec l’arrivée des journaux. Dans les années 80, il y a eu en Grande-Bretagne un engouement pour les films d’époque et une certaine nostalgie pour le bon vieux temps, alors que le pays se transformait sous la main forte de la dame de fer.

Ceci étant dit, les Anglais adorent se déguiser. Point. Toute excuse pour se parer de costumes d’époque, même si l’audience n’est que de quelques dizaines de villageois, est bonne. Les crieurs n’ont peut être pas d’énormes chapeaux en fourrure comme les Gardes Royaux (heureusement pour les ours) mais ils ont un tricorne et s’habillent de façon à ce qu’on les remarque.

Qui dit crieur dit ville

Au début 2011, la Grande-Bretagne compte 220 crieurs publics. Ils sont en fait des ‘crieurs de ville’ et ne peuvent s’appeler town criers que ceux qui sont reconnus par leur mairie. Ils appartiennent à l’Ancienne et Honorable Guilde des Crieurs de Ville. Certains crient pour plusieurs villes. La plupart crient en privé aussi, pour arrondir les fins de mois. En fait, ils sont souvent volontaires, à la retraite et ce sont les événements privés qui leur permettent de continuer à crier.

Notre crieur local, David Craner (town crier pour Beaminster et Crewkerne), dont la voix porte fort loin, essaie de trouver des sponsors pour venir présenter ce ‘métier’ quelque peu bizarre et pourtant si vieux à nos petits écoliers par le biais de l’association de jumelage.

Crierons nous plus en France?

Moi je dis bravo. Dans notre monde ou les ordinateurs envahissent notre vie sociale sans que nous nous en rendions compte, requinquer une tradition de recevoir des nouvelles de vive voix me plait bien.

Fast-food a fait naître slow-food, peut être que les crieurs publics, éteints par les journaux, vont faire renaitre les nouvelles. ‘Live’, pour de vrai.

Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!

A West Dorset Tweetup

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West Dorset and Tweetup could be seen as an anachronism. I’ve had a few bewildered looks when I said I was going for my first tweetup. What on earth is it anyway? Well it’s a meetup for tweeters. Simples.

“What is the agenda?” asked @LisaTandem. Good question, although I hadn’t given it much thought. I just wanted to put a real face to people I had met via Twitter; so when @tim_harrap (also known as @BritishCheese) suggested a West Dorset tweetup I tweeted great idea.

The Wild Garlic seemed the obvious place to meet since @matkiwi is a tweeter of note in the foodie twitter world and his restaurant in Beaminster was a nice and convenient venue.

He joined in the twitter spirit:
“Nice idea, coffee on me, all welcome”

So it continued with:
West Dorset tweetup Saturday 11/12 10.30, Wild Garlic in Beaminster. Coffee on @matkiwi (thanks Mat!) @tim_harrap will be there. Who else?

And ended up with @tim_harrap, @MrCliveC, @matkiwi, @natamagat (that’s me!) and @tim_harraps’ oh (other half) discussing the twittersphere over a coffee. Don’t be fooled in thinking that there are only four people tweeting in West Dorset though. There are in fact dozens of us.

Children’s plays and hangovers got in the way, many were working on Saturday morning and the rest were obviously Christmas shopping. And many more don’t follow @tim_harrap or @natamagat so had no idea this West Dorset tweetup was happening.

We all had interesting stories to tell. It would be wrong of me to divulge @MrCliveC’s thoughts on the place of the police in the 21st century. Being the Police Federation Chair for Dorset he needs to handle his 140 characters carefully despite tweeting in a personal capacity. Or indeed what @matkiwi might have to say about intense farming. He is of course against it, I hasten to add, but he had some interesting comments on how the press handle it.

@BritishCheese gave some great examples on how twitter can be used in a large company and introduced me to twitterfall. I added my bit on why journalists have not become lazy as is often perceived but rather pushed in a corner they did not choose.

We all agreed that we look for the people behind the tweets. Corporate marketing and old fashioned PR still have a long way to go in their understanding and use of social media marketing in many companies.

As for our tweetup, I’d say it was a success. We met the real people behind the @names and I’m looking forward to meeting more West Dorset tweeters at the next one. Suggestions welcome.

twitpic taken by @tim_harrap

The inn down the lane

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From nouvelle cuisine to a country pub down a tarmac lane so remote, it has grass growing on it. The sun is shining so we decide to drive around West Dorset lanes just for the sake of the views and find the Three Horseshoes Inn just around lunch time.

Pub with rooms. The menu is more gastro than old boys’ local and they’ve run out of Bath chaps and Hooke Farm trout. No matter, I fancy a Blue Vinney ploughman and the husband goes for battered cod with triple cooked chips. Yep, good ol’ fish and chips for lunch. Takes all sorts.

We can hear children as we sit down on the terrace with wide green views. You’d think they are just behind the wall, a perfect demonstration of how sound works in amphitheatre. A few minutes later, the school below starts work again for the afternoon so the only sounds left are the birds, the wind in the parasols and a distant dog listening to himself. Otherwise you’d wonder whether there’s much life around.

When my square wooden platter arrives I pull a face. There’s a heap of thin and pretty greenery on the edge and I am wondering how to eat this without half of it ending up on the floor. It looks like young sweet pea shoots and tastes delicious. Brain figures that fingers are de rigueur. If the man in the nice restaurant in France (many years back) thought it was OK for me to eat with my fingers because chefs don’t like plates coming back with food, then why not?

Apart from the juicy shoots, there was a large chunk of blue veined Dorset delight, some very light and airy home made bread and two chutneys. The first was classically vinegary with soft fruits -no crunchy out of a jar sharp stuff here-  the other more of a compote that has not reached mushy state so the soft bits of fruits have a gentle texture. This one would have probably complimented a Farmhouse Cheddar better, Blue Vinney being a bit stronger it overtook the palate (ok, killed the fruits if you prefer).

The husband enjoyed his triple cooked chips and battered cod. The cod portion was large enough and the batter was a bit on the heavy side but the chips were deemed delicious. There is a price to pay for triple cooked chips at lunchtime and I can hear the husband snoozing. You can’t beat a Ploughman in a country pub. And as country pubs go, this one sure has the location, a great terrace with half a dozen tables, the pretty church next door and new owners.

Our terrace neighbours said: “Very pretty but I wouldn’t want to live here; silly little roads”. Fair enough, this is a place you come to because you like being remote. No marquee, no sea views, just an inn and a village. The Jurassic Coast may be down the lane, it may as well be abroad. That’s why I liked the place.

Ploughman: £7

Battered cod + triple cooked chips: £11

Three Horseshoes Inn, Powerstock

Fun family day in the woods guaranteed?

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“You are your own health and safety” says BBC Master Craftsman Guy Mallinson. Music to my ears. “Place your body sideways otherwise you’ll chop your arm off or cut yourself in half” says bodger Mace Brightwater; that got the kids listening. Despite dealing with blades that make a steak knife appear blunt our family day trying our hand at green woodworking was one of the most relaxing experiences we’ve had in a long time. Warmer than finding fossils on the beach in Normandy  (no fire to warm us up there) and far more rewarding than a day on a beach in the South of France.

We have a tangible memory of our day in the midst of Dorset in the shape of two rounders’ bats for the boys and two wooden spatulas, although they’re a bit square and I’d far rather use spoons but hey I do use them and remember. As for the bats, what can I say? Proud gushing mother says they are beautifully unique. Which they are, full stop. Whether they’re any good I have no idea -French people don’t play rounders- but the boys seem to think they’re great.

So how did we actually make these? Tricky to explain; I did not actually make one myself, my artistic side was too busy taking pictures and my motherly side was so proud to see my eldest son enjoying a pole and lathe far far more than a computer game let alone a book that I simply did not interfere. Nothing to do with the fact that when I tried to strip layers of wood I did not do as well as I thought I would. My romantic notion that ‘if I love arts and crafts then surely I’ll take to it like a duck to water’ was knocked on the head. As my eldest was a natural -Guy did say, so must be true- I thought I’d let him get on with it whilst I just got on with what I do best, look around.

Concentration on people’s faces, my 10 year old son and his father crafting together, kids chatting with their parent, tools borrowed from a neighbour, getting help, asking for advice, proud smiles, giggles when it went a bit pear shaped. I kept being distracted that day. Thing is, once I was no longer making a bat I had no particular reason to listen. So when the birds twittered, I heard them; when I got a bit chilly, I warmed my hands on the open fire and when my son was using a new tool, I studied his hands with my camera.

The setting in the middle of the woods is tranquillity personified. It is so quiet that Mace thinks a pole and lathe is loud when it gets going. He asks us to listen to the noise it makes to ascertain whether it is working OK or not, “if it isn’t, it makes a racket” he says. I was waiting for a loud background noise but you can tell that some of us live in a town whilst others are more used to woods and seaside. This townie found everything oh so quiet and peaceful. The children want to go back for more and their father was the last one to leave. “He’s in the zone” says Guy. My zone had kids trying to catch ducks eggs on a tiny island in the middle of a pond, the sound of a Scout father saying he would recommend the course to his Scout friends, the smell of woodland mixed with smoke and fire, the feel of a perfectly smooth rounders bat made out of sycamore.

It’s not perfect mind. Half way through the morning when I realised that I wasn’t going to get to do much woodworking I did feel a bit put off. I’d spent over £200 on the four of us for the day. On top of that our shaving horse was broken so we could not start straight away. I was getting a bit fidgety and began to think that frankly these things should be checked first. As Mace got a branch, fashioned a footrest and repaired the horse in minutes and as we borrowed each other’s cheap tools (weirdly the expensive ones were in sufficient numbers), I realised that actually the whole experience is not a race or a competition and the most important part of the experience is to slow down, concentrate, observe and simply enjoy each other’s company. And learn a little something on the way. At £55 per person for a day, it’s not a cheap day out but it sure beats a day on a sunny beach and that’s a lot more expensive to guarantee.

Foraging with the Wild Garlic Masterchef

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Nettle soup followed by a poached breast of chicken wrapped in wild garlic leaf and wild garlic pesto could sound a bit weird. Then again, when it comes at the end of a foraging day, it not only makes sense it demonstrates what it’s all about. But is it tasty and worth the effort?

There’s much talk about foraging these days but let’s face it, however good a reference book is, it is not conducive to go out there and find out on your own. I prefer a hands on approach so I booked a foraging day with Masterchef winner Mat Follas. Nine of us met at the Wild Garlic restaurant and were greeted with a coffee before we set off on our walk towards the woods.

We took a lane I have walked many times. I had noticed these pretty little purple flowers but never knew they were called Ground Ivy let alone that I could eat them. Most people will know these (unlike this French townie) and want to get rid of them on their lawn. It spreads like mint, in fact it rather tastes like it. Jack-by-the-hedge (or Garlic mustard), the good old nettle, hogweed and wild garlic can also be found in abundance in many places.

Theo, who helps Mat on his foraging days was an absolute mine of information. Once people got over his tattoos and his ‘traveller status’, we quickly realised he is a sharing kind of guy and knows his stuff. He pointed out that many of the plants we now consider weed or that grow in our hedges were in fact imported by the Romans for eating purposes. Nettle soup is not such a novel idea after all. Of course we can’t eat all the leaves we come across, it may be on private land or a dog may have marked them as his territory.

The point of wild food foraging is to use common sense. Whilst wild food is very much what spices Mat’s cooking, it does not mean that he forages anything that is not abundant. He may have to supplant it with some home grown version as he feeds rather more than a family of four but many people can find new tastes for their salads or greens in their back garden if not in the woods.

The seaside was a revelation for me. I have walked along our gorgeous beaches many a time, avoiding treading on those purple and green thick leaved, wavy looking plants. Look closer. It must be a cousin of the broccoli, only sweeter. These lovely balloon like tiny white and pink flowers? Pick a few Sea Campions (and leave plenty) and garnish your salads.

So back in Beaminster, what was the food like… The nettle soup, presented in a mini saucepan was light, fresh and surprisingly tasty. The wild garlic flower on the side not only looked pretty, it gave a little kick and balanced the starter perfectly. The poached chicken breast that followed was wrapped in a wild garlic leaf with a wild garlic pesto and was totally succulent. I will try this at home although I doubt it will taste the same. New potatoes and a spoonful of horse radish ice cream completed the main course. I don’t normally like horse radish as I find it too strong but this was subtle and spiced the chicken surprisingly well. Pudding? A rather tidy berry Mess. Got the girls Oh’ing when it arrived and kept us quiet for once.

We were a rather chatty kind of group. Friendly forager wannabes met a kiwi chef and a traveller to learn about the British wild food in the middle of what used to be a Norman town. That tickled my fancy. Mat and Theo were a fitting combination of forager and chef who obviously love their food (Theo’s mother was trained by French chef extraordinaire Bocuse) and are willing to share their passion. We weren’t prompted to give Theo a round of applause when he left us to our lunch to get back to his kids nor did we feign our appreciation when we thanked Mat for a fun and instructive day. The beautiful surroundings were the cherry on the cake or in this case, a wild garlic flower on the nettle soup.

Une vallée perdue dans le Dorset Occidental

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Les petits coins perdus dans le Dorset Occidental, c’est pas ce qui manque. On peut aller par monts et par vaux prendre une petite route et se retrouver au milieu de nulle part. Il y aura peut être une ferme protégée par une colline ou un hameau aux maisons de pierre locale, avec un peu de chance un toit en chaume ou deux.

Entre Beaminster et Bridport, il y en a plein des petits détours de chemin comme ça. Ce weekend, j’ai redécouvert un hameau au nom de Loscombe. Sachant que ‘combe’ veut dire petite vallée et que ‘lost’ signifie perdu, on est pas vraiment étonné de se retrouver au milieu de nulle part, entouré de collines. Tous les ans mes amis Loscombois (les Anglais ne sont pas aussi friands que nous de donner des noms aux habitants de toutes les communes donc j’invente) invitent les copains, leurs enfants et leurs chiens à une grande balade pour annoncer le printemps.

Nous voilà partis, les enfants pressés courent avec les chiens devant et les parents bavardent tout en regardant la campagne environnante. On s’arrête pour écouter le ruisseau qui gargouille et arrose les perce neiges, un peu tardifs cette année. Il fait d’ailleurs encore froid mais le soleil est de la partie en ce début de Mars et la journée est magnifique. Le long du cours d’eau sous les arbres, on peut sentir l’ail sauvage qui sort à peine de terre mais ne passe pas inaperçu.

Après les vaux viennent les monts, et nous attaquons une colline. Petites dans la famille des monts, les collines du coin sont assez raide dans la catégorie balades. Les enfants se régalent de rouler du haut en bas et les parents récupèrent leur souffle en admirant le paysage. Les couleurs d’hiver ne sont pas vert, vert et vert comme on imagine toujours Angleterre.

Devant nous, les collines semblent s’encastrer les unes dans les autres, laissant deviner les petites vallées cachées. Les arbres n’ont pas encore de bourgeons et les fines branches semblent avoir esquissé des croquis d’ombre sur le sol ensoleillé. Seuls les aulnes ont leurs fleurs d’hiver jaunes comme de minuscules lave bouteilles. Des buissons endormis parsèment les flancs des collines et donnent un peu de couleurs brunes au paysage.

Le calme complet des vallons du Dorset est un peu envahi aujourd’hui par tous ces enfants et leurs chiens en laisse et les parents qui causent. De retour dans la cour du cottage, une excellente soupe chaude, du bon pain frais, un plateau de fromages du coin et quelques bouteilles de bière et de vin nous attendent. Nous nous installons sur les chaises et les bottes de paille pour reprendre notre souffle et savourons ce soleil d’hiver qui réchauffe si bien.

Finalement notre petite vallée voisine n’est pas perdue pour tout le monde. Une journée de plaisir pur et simple. Difficile à battre.