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Many little Christmas trees, or how I came to lose a pop up exhibition

December 11, 2017

Life in this turret of HARN towers is continuing to be stressful. The turret itself has now joined in the game of ‘see who sends Julia over the edge from shouty-sweary-woman to sitting-rocking-in-a-corner-woman’. We have a smell in the kitchen, it is not a good smell, it is not a Christmas cake baking, mulled wine bubbling, all things festive smell, no, it is a sewerage smell. This is very bad. The source of the smell is perplexing us (and our neighbour who also has the smell) and, in the course of investigating we’ve discovered there are puddles under our house. Why there are puddles under our house has now been added to the list of things we need to get sorted out, quickly and, I suspect, expensively. The puddles are not related to the smell, nor are they related to all the pipes under the house, they appear to be inexplicable – but undoubtedly costly – puddles. The future may well include blog posts about the joy of ripping out kitchen cupboards, digging up a concrete floor and pumping out the underneath of our house. Or there may be blog silence as I sit in a corner weeping and rocking. It could go either way but be warned there’s likely to be even less history of archaeology on here than there has recently.

However, it’s not all doom and gloom. No, into that mix we can add self-inflicted insanity and incompetence, some mine, some not. First – the self inflicted insanity, or many, many little Christmas trees. How many? Actually, not that many, it just began to feel like my life was an endless production line of green felt triangles


And why was I making many little Christmas trees? The school Christmas Fair – all the HARN members who are parents are now nodding wisely, the rest of you are blissfully unaware of the insanity that is the school fair and how you get talked into/talk yourself into doing way more than you bargained for. In retrospect, despite having approximately no time at all for sewing fiddly bits of felt, I got off lightly. During the fair itself I just sold things to people, Rick had a different role


Ho, ho, ho.

The incompetence, as you may have guessed, was completely failing to find a pop up exhibition. This pop up exhibition about Preston in the First World War. I’m blaming my utter inability to find it on the green felt Christmas trees – no, I’m not sure the connection works either but given I’ve been dreaming about cutting, sewing, stuffing and finishing little triangles of green felt I think it’s safe to say the wool fumes had got into my brain. Whatever the cause, by the time I caught up with the pop up event it it had popped off from the Student’s Union and never seemed to get as far as Livesey House despite being advertised as relocating there. This was, for me, an enormous disappointment. Less so for the 11 year old who’d decided to come with me and had to suffer the embarrassment of his mother actually talking to people, in public. And the further embarrassment of being with a mother who was frankly admitting to being lost and incompetent, oh the shame! On the up side, while we were wandering around the Union looking for the exhibition we coincided with a media conference lunch and the organisers took pity on us and fed him pizza. When I went back during the week to try and find the damn thing in Livesey no-one offered me anything to eat, the pop up exhibition was nowhere to be seen, no-one seemed to know anything about it and I’m still waiting for the organisers to get back to me. I had high hopes of blogging about the exhibition because it sounded fascinating and I’m sure I could have found a history of archaeology angle without contorting myself too much.

If you are interested then check out these resources and

and there’s the war memorial on the stairs of the Harris Museum – which is always sobering after we’ve made ourselves giddy visiting Horace

And on that archaeological note I shall leave you – I hope you have a productive week, I’m just hoping nothing else goes wrong.




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