Fly tipping in reverse... or why the Upsycho needs a van

Since moving into full time Upcycler mode, I have developed a distinct tic. Every time we drive past a skip, I practically give myself whiplash, trying to see if there's anything useful being chucked out. There often is, but sadly, I can't usually fit it into my car. I drive a great big monster of a Volvo S80, but its boot (trunk) is smaller than most and its back seat doesn't go flat. Both for the same reason: there is a built-in fridge in my car where the middle back seat should be. Go figure.

A while back, I was taking Jess for a walk, when I spotted a broken pine TV stand on top of the bins (trash cans) of a house not far from mine. I helped myself to it, popping a note through the letter box, in case they hadn't meant to chuck it out. It became two dog beds.

Two dog beds

In the summer, I took my Mom birding at a local sanctuary, and we spotted a pile of trash dumped by the side of the access road. It included two plastic crates that I was sure I could use, but my Mom was so horrified at the mere suggestion, that I didn't retrieve them. I'm so sorry I didn't, because they would have made great dog beds and plastic is a terrible product to send to landfill because it doesn't biodegrade.

Last month, for several days in a row, I saw a very nice armchair dumped by the side of the road on my way to work. Sadly, I just knew it wouldn't fit in the car. A real pity, because it was crying out for an Upsycho makeover. Eventually, the council must have removed it because it (and the rest of the junk dumped with it by a fly-tipper) disappeared.

Two weeks ago, I spotted a tea trolley, dumped on the exit ramp from the local Sainsbury. It was a blind bend with no safe place to stop, so I promised myself that I would go there on foot next time I visited the store, and retrieve it. Someone beat me to it. I hope it was someone who was able to do something useful with it.

Just a few days ago, I spotted a metal item sticking out of the undergrowth beside the A509. It was during rush hour traffic, so I had a full second or two to take in some sort of square section frame and circles. I went back yesterday to investigate.

Half buried in the undergrowth

I dragged it out of the undergrowth and across the road to my car. Such a simple sentence to type. Not such a simple thing to do. The road had been deserted when I crossed it empty handed. But now that I was trying to make it back across the road, carrying two unwieldy metal structures, everybody seemed to want to travel to or from Isham! Finally getting across the road to a clear patch, I laid them down to see what they were.

My hard-won treasures

I hadn't anticipated that right-angled assembly and I had no tools with me to take them apart. Getting them into the car was no mean feat.

Getting them into the car was no mean feat

My Volvo S80 was not designed to do duty as a workhorse

Getting them to my workshop was the easy bit. Once there, I stood them upright and inspected them. I was quite surprised at how tall they are. Over two metres. Perhaps 220cm. One section is bent (top left of the picture below), and there is some rust to remove. Other than that, the frames are in pretty good nick. Obviously that fabric will have to go, but I have plenty in the stash to replace it with.

Over 2m tall!

What I don't understand is why someone dumped them where they did. It can be a dangerous stretch of road. Plus, they could just as easily have taken them to our recycling plant, which has a special section for metal waste. People are weird.

Watch this space to see what becomes of my fly-tip-retrieval.

Working with other materials

For the most part, as you may have noticed, I work with wood (or facsimiles thereof like MDF, laminates and laminated chipboard). But I also work with other materials. I have a studio at home, where I carry out handcrafts that don't involve power tools: sewing, beading, decopodging...that kind of thing.

Tray table - before

In the typical manner of a creative person, I tend to start out with one goal in mind, and wind up in a slightly different place, as inspiration moulds the project organically. So I seldom work entirely within my comfort zone, and most projects stretch me at least a little. Oddly enough (or perhaps not), this is exactly the approach I employed when I used to design learning solutions in my previous life.

Then from time to time, I am given the opportunity to explore new territory.

I was recently commissioned to restore a metal patio set that had seen better days. A two-seater bench and a little tray table. It had great sentimental value to its owner. I knew that I could strip it and sand it back by hand, before painting it again. And I knew it would be a long, slow process.

Two seater - before

At the same time, I was also given a candelabra made of twisted iron rods. The cups for the candles had pretty much rusted away, and the client gave me carte blanche to let my imagination run riot. Once again, this would involve stripping and repainting.

First things first, though - those rusted candleholders had to come off. This sort of work gives me time to think, so it is during the purely manual parts of a project that inspiration tends to strike. It dawned on me - maybe I could have the rust sandblasted off instead.

I found a local sandblasting firm and approached them. For them it was a small project - they usually work on huge pieces, but they were keen on the idea and agreed to do the work for me. They sanded and primed all three pieces.

Screw-in eyes

In the workshop next door to the sandblasting firm, is a metalworker. He works on Rolls Royces and vintage lorries. But he was happy, too, to weld screw-in eyes onto the candelabra for me (he also made a new drip tray for our gas barbecue, but that's another story). I think the work felt like a holiday to him.

During conversations with the sandblasting man, we discovered that we could form a mutually beneficial relationship in respect of some of the stuff he throws away. I will save him the trouble of disposing of it, and it will provide me with the basis of some interesting pieces going forward.

Once that was done, I painted all three pieces in accordance with the clients' instructions, and reunited them with their happy owners.

Patio set - after

Candelabra turned lantern tree

The point I'm making is that it's worth having a go. It's worth talking to other local tradespeople and crafters. It's worth asking. People can always say no, but often I find people enjoy the opportunity to do something different. Especially if they get to be a little creative in the process.

So you've never tried x thing before. Give it a shot. You might surprise yourself. And you might make some interesting new acquaintances into the bargain.

After a long silence...pleading for a little less dissing

I have been uncharacteristically quiet for some time, I know. I had my Mom to stay for six weeks, and we spent that time exploring garden centres, visiting coffee shops, going birding and doing the Daily Telegraph cryptic crossword puzzle every day. Things I just don't to do very often because I don't know anyone locally who shares my interest in any of these activities, and - apart from the DT crossword - doing them alone just makes me sad.

When she left - after a couple of false starts, because she flies staff rebate and has to go on standby - the Black Dog took full advantage of the void and moved in with me for a bit.

But I am on the mend.

Since we last spoke, my younger son has moved out of home into his very first flat. Now Mr Namasi and I are rattling around in this overlarge empty nest and using words like 'downsizing'.

Also...the Rio Olympics. Isn't it exciting? Team GB is currently second on the medal table. This little island is doing very well for itself. Usain Bolt is delivering the goods as expected. 'First ever' medals are being won for countries with small populations and large challenges (like Kosovo), and it gets, erm...very dusty in homes all over the world as we watch the victors hearing their anthems being played. And let's not forget the first ever Olympic gold medal to an African American swimmer, in a wonderful 'in your face' to a history of exclusion of black swimmers from local swimming pools until relatively recently. Of course, as a South African expat, your friendly upsycho is delighted at the world record breaking win in the 400m by Wayde van Niekerk.

But what's with all the dissing that's going on? Gabby Douglas's hair has made more of an impression than her gymnastics, for Pete's sake! What the heck is that about? One competitor refused to shake hands with his opponent after their judo bout (and got sent home for his trouble) because they have different religions. One victor failed to place her hand on her heart during the anthem - shock horror. Commentators are being ludicrously sexist: attributing women's wins to their male coaches; making comments like 'she swims like a man' (seriously?!); and calling Simone Biles the next Michael Phelps ("I'm not the next Michael Phelps, I'm the first Simone Biles."); completely overlooking the fact that the Williams sisters have won more than one gold medals than Andy Murray (an oversight Andy Murray was quick to point out).

I don't get it. I find the athletes breathtakingly admirable. Their discipline, dedication and skill are remarkable. I don't give a rat's ass what Gabby's 'edges' (whatever they may be) are doing. Or that x person's body isn't flattered by her (and it's usually a her) clothing. I reckon they're all pretty damned amazing, and I can't wait to see what happens next.

Before (cat not included)

I try to counter the negativity with a positive attitude to my work. I'm also participating in a FB meme: posting five positive things about each day for five days.

After (sans cat)

Most of the projects I'm working on at the moment are commissioned pieces. I try to pour love (oh hush!) into what I do, and I hope that it shows. I hope that the clients feel that the investment in their chair/patio set/dog grooming parlour has been worth it, when they see them gain a new lease on life.

On not knowing that it can't be done

There's something to be said for a certain level of ignorance. It has certainly served me well in my life. Years ago, when I sang in a band, I didn't play an instrument, and I would want to go straight from one song into another. The instrumentalists would tell me it couldn't be done, and I'd say "Like this..." and sing what I wanted. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. Nobody died.

The first piece of user-driven 'e-learning' I ever created was done using PowerPoint and a screen capture tool called SnagIt. Apparently that couldn't be done either. Except I did it. And it worked.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not describing a level of defiance here. It's not that people say a thing can't be done and that then fires me up to prove them wrong. It's that I think of something I want to do, and decide on a way to do it. Sometimes I find out before I begin the actual work that it (allegedly) can't be done. Sometimes it is only after I've done it that I find out it can't be done.  Sometimes when people tell me a thing can't be done, they're right. Sometimes I say "But what about..." and it turns out they weren't right.

I seem to have an overdeveloped 'how hard can it be' gland (perhaps it takes up the space where my schadenfreude gland is supposed to be, because those who know me will attest to the fact that I am singularly lacking in that area).

That same blithe lack of realism is found in most areas of my life. The work I do with my hands is no exception. There are so many examples of things that I didn't know couldn't be done before I did them.

Pine, rickety and in need of TLC

Today's post is about one small example of that.

I acquired a little stool from a house clearance not far from my home. It was pine. It was rickety. And it was strung with hideous green nylon twine. I know it doesn't look hideous in the photo, but trust me: it was.

First I took the twine off. I Freecycled that to a keen allotment gardener for his peas and beans.

Then I made it a little less rickety by sanding off a lot of excess of glue, previously applied for no doubt the same reason, and re-gluing it. One tip: new glue doesn't generally stick very well to old glue (does that make sense?), so if you need to re-glue something, take the old glue off first.

Then I painted the frame a lovely duck egg blue, and gave it a good waxing.

So far, I haven't mentioned anything that 'can't be done', have I? Well, here it comes...

What was I going to do about that top? I could just screw on a plank of wood. I could put a piece of wood with a cushion on top. But I liked that woven look. And how hard could it be?

How hard could it be?

I bought cotton ribbon in duck egg blue and cream. Two different designs. Then I cut lengths of it and wove a new seat for the stool. Starting in one corner and alternating between north-south and east-west. I pulled it as tight as I could and stapled it with my trusty staple gun. Then I covered the ends and staples with some calico strips, much as I do when I'm reupholstering a chair. And hey presto! A stool for teddy.

It never occurred to me to think that the width of the ribbon and the dimensions of the chair would be a mismatch...and they weren't. It worked perfectly. It was only when I put the item up on my Folksy store and Facebook page that I found out that it was tricky to do a seat like that and easy to get it wrong.

Hey Presto! A stool for teddy

I say again: there's a lot to be said for not knowing something can't be done. I'm sure there's a lot of deep philosophy that can be extrapolated from this, but it's just how I work. Perhaps I'm just in permanent denial. Don't disillusion me, will you? I seem to get more done this way.

Upcycling, recycling, freecycling, makeovers, restorations....

Chair with Shweshwe fabric

There are so many terms being bandied about, and there isn't consensus as to where the boundaries lie between them. I don't think it matters that much, as long as we're making an effort to chuck less stuff away and to reuse things as much as possible.

But last night, I participated in a tweetchat in which someone was definitely spoiling for a fight on the subject.  So this is my take on what all the various words mean. You might have a different view. That's okay. We can still be friends.

The tweetchat was about upcycled items and the theme was colour. A few of us posted pictures of things we had worked on recently. One person wasn't convinced that they all qualified as upcycled. Some of them had just been restored. She was probably right. For example, this chair, with which I am insufferably pleased, is hardly upcycled. It started as a chair and ended up as a chair, albeit with a new seat pad, new coat of paint and new fabric on the back and the seat. But neither did I restore it. If I had done that, I would have made it look as it did when it left the factory (kind of like 'restore factory settings'). So I would say I gave it a makeover.

On the other hand, this hanging rail I made out of a vintage potato crate, in my mind, qualifies as upcycled. It started out as one thing, and ended up as a another.

Hanging rail

 When I take my scrap metal to the recycling plant, and it is melted down to make school chairs or fighter planes. That's what I would think of as recycling.

And when someone gives an item away to someone else. That's freecycling.

I will tell you something for nothing, though - freecycling can be a bit hit and miss. People have widely differing views on what constitutes a quality item. Just yesterday, I went to collect a small unit that the man told me was 'solid'. What he meant was, it was heavy. It was made of chipboard and metal and was in pretty rough shape. It went for recycling.

On the flip side, today, I picked up a small chest of drawers for the princely sum of £5. It was a vintage Stag piece. Possibly 1930s, I have to do a bit more research. It has been painted at some point, and the paint is chipped. But I will restore it...mostly, and maybe throw in a bit of a makeover, just for good measure. More of that anon.