Teacosy as made by the anthropologist.

It’s Jubilee season. Across the nation, community groups of all shapes and sizes are shuffling the minutes, putting the kettle on and wondering whose shed the bunting has been left in. Wiser souls have stayed in and locked the doors; republicans have got a good grumble in.

I have somehow managed to get on my village Jubilee committee, mostly because being an anthropologist (and not a wise soul) I went to have a look at the meeting, where I was instantaneously co-opted. We have ambitiously planned not one, not two, but three days of celebrations. This being the Pennines, it is most likely that it will rain on not one, not two, but three of those days.

Swathed in wellies and raincoat and toting a brollie, I will be seen on fair (or is it fayre?) day valiantly womanning both the WI and the chapel stalls. There will be cakes. There will be bric-a-brac.

Over in a nearby village, I’ve been helping out with the local history group’s special Jubilee exhibition. The laminators have run hot with pictures of the Queen. If she happens to drop in to have a look, I think she’ll be very impressed with our neat trimming.

Meanwhile at craft group (whence go I every week) I had started making a teacosy in red wool. As soon as they noticed what I was up to, my fellow crafters declared that it should be a Jubilee teacosy in red, white and blue.

So I may not have finished a chapter this week, but I did finish a teacosy. My fieldwork is indeed fruitful.

(I used this scalloped teacosy pattern by Crochetroo.)

Possibly containing Aunt Eunice's scrapbook collection.

(I’m terribly sorry to inform any seekers of messianic truth who may be lurking herein, but Margaret Mead has not been resurrected. Although I have not checked, I am fairly certain that she is still dead. These days, so is Derek Freeman, which just goes to show.)

Many moons ago, when I was in the full bloom of youth and had just started my PhD, I started a blog. I called it Margaret Mead Reads My Tea Leaves in something of an hommage à Esther Newton and because I had recently tumbled into the anthropology of Britain. Of course, as it was a blog, it jumped about various free hosting sites before finally coming to roost at my own new-fangled domain.

Where it was promptly neglected. It got cobwebby and faded, and gathered the occasional spam comment. I had thoughts of it every now and then, like an old suitcase in the attic that may or may not have Aunt Eunice’s scrapbook collection in it.

Now I have decided to haul it down and dust it off. After all, I am paying for this domain and surely the hotel buffet principle applies: it’s been paid for, so have another cup of tea and load up another plate.

I am not, of course, making any rash promises. I will not be posting prolifically, nor will the coherence, relevance or even general interest of my thoughts be by any means guaranteed. But post I shall.

Disclaimers
1. Margaret Mead does not in fact make a habit of appearing from beyond the grave to give tea leaf readings. But it would be the best Theosophist night out since cheesecloth and cameras.
2.  I don’t have an Aunt Eunice. Though if I did, she would have a bouffant.