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  • Writer's pictureSarah Campbell

Where do I start?

Has it been a month? even more maybe…and it’s not as though life has been so intolerably boring that I have had nothing to right about. I’ve had LOADS to write about but havn’t because I fell out of the habit. That’s it, I just fell out of the habit like a shrivelled nun.

So many beautiful, not so beautiful and eventful things have happened since I wrote last that I’d be here until Sunday making up for lost time, rambling on and honestly I don’t think you’d really want to read for that long… so I’m afraid I’ll have to start fresh from today.

Who goes there?

Who goes there?

And fresh it is. Without a shadow of a doubt spring is my most favourite time of year on the isle of Lismore. The primroses lift their pale faces to the sun and pepper the road verges and mossy hillocks with soft, sugary yellow. The spring buds emerge in every juicy shade from duck egg to green so acidic it makes your mouth pucker. And the lambs…the lambs are the BEST. They are so unbearably gorgeous. They’re either looking as dithery and dissorientated as drunk teeneagers. Or they are leaping and skipping with wild and blissful abandon. I spend a lot of time talking for them, a bit like Johnny Morris on “Animal magic” I can converse for hours as a small lamb.

Oh Guess what. I did get in to “Origin“. Now that has blown me over. I  never in a month of Sundays thought the craft council would tolerate tweed! But maybe I’m fronting the great craft of tweed rennaisance along with Ardalanish (Mull weavers) and Eloise Grey

Mull weavers organic tweeds

Mull weavers organic tweeds

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