Paint Workshops,Antiques, Arundel, Brighton & The Drinking Group with a Writing Problem
Hello
from
Arundel Eccentrics Antiques.
Paint Workshops
We had a great workshop yesterday in the studio
down the end of the garden.
Sits right on the River Arun riverbank.
The three gals who came along were great fun.
They were three friends who wanted to have a day out together
and learn a few techniques to paint and decorate furniture.
We introduce our work shoppers
to all sorts of
techniques.
We use Annie Sloan,
but we also use loads of other products.
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| Cutting out the decoupage. They look sensible here. Wasn't always so LOL |
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| This was done simply and was absolutely beautiful. Shannon now has to just give it a few coats of varnish at home. |
We stopped for a vegetarian lunch.
Glass of wine even, as long as they promised
not to fall asleep in the afternoon.
no chance of that...they were firing on all cylinders.Ha Ha
The antique pine box went from this...............
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| to this....painted and distressed outside all cleaned up and waxed inside |
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| and the bedside went from this..... |
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| to this... they both decided to varnish rather than wax and age down... but that's something they can do later if they decide to. |
see what I mean? Totally bonkers....
Thanks for coming guys.
Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.
Next set of dates ....
Week of 27th October
until Saturday 1st November.
9.30 until around 6pm..or when we finish.
Choose any day.
Price is normally £95 per person.
That includes all materials.
Vegetarian Lunch.
Glass of wine.
And a million laughs.....well OK,
that's an exaggeration....
not quite a million.
So if you fancy a day out with your best friend.
I'll do a workshop with 2-3 people
for £70 each.
You'll learn to paint and distress.
Crackle glaze.
Varnish and/or wax to finish.
The basics of decoupage...
.........and maybe a little intro into gilding
if we don't chat too much.
Here's a few pictures of some of our other workshops.
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| Cheeky! |
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| Sandy lives in the US and was visiting her family here in Arundel. Joined us for a days workshop. She said she had a great time. |
The people I've had on the workshops
have all been delightful.
They've enjoyed the day and
gone home full of enthusiasm
for their new found skills.
As for me...I've imparted some
of the ideas and techniques
learnt over the past 20 years and......
been lucky enough to make
a whole lot of new friends.
If you'd like to come along.
Just email me.
Our antiques warehouse.
If this is the first time you have found us...here is a bit about what we do.
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| these are just old buckets etc that we upcycle |
Hidden away down a little alleyway a minutes' walk
from
the bustle of Arundel's High Street,
lay the last remaining buildings of the
19th century
Swallow brewery warehouse.
It is home to our antiques collection.
The warehouse is large and houses an
interesting
collection of decorative antiques.
The prices are extremely competitive.
We welcome trade clients at any time and
open to the
public on Friday, Saturday and Sunday 10-4.
As well as our general decorative pieces, we source
English Victorian Bamboo, circa 1860, made often in London.
By now, these pieces that were cheap and simply produced,
but have somehow lasted 150 years,
have ended up in granny's
shed and car boot sales,
some on their last legs.
We lovingly restore and clean them.
Paint and decorate
the new surfaces with
decoupage using 19th century images.
Now looking very sophisticated, the bamboo
items sit well
in either traditional or contemporary rooms.
We do the same with 19th century chests.
Vintage boxes and everyday old galvanised
metal objects
are given the same treatment.
The pieces blend well together and
our trade customers
like to mix and match.
Much of our work goes to the USA via antique
trade and
have also been seen in Liberty London.
We are a husband and wife team.
My husband deals with the decorative antiques.
I concentrate on the up cycling side
and have been doing
this for almost 20 years.
I've taken Arundel Eccentrics
to many places over those
years,
antique centres, farm buildings, pop up shops.
Anywhere I can work and take my customers to.
My US trade customers used to love the farm.
Taking them along bumpy country lanes
they would delight
in the fact we
were an unknown source of interesting pieces.
We love
the quirky
interesting
backdrop of warehouses.
I now restore and work on pieces in the studio at the
end
of the garden,
that sits by the river here in Arundel.
That, and our small Victorian cottage.
Pieces come into
the house where they are finished.
Sometimes we look at TV through A myriad of
bamboo tables.
Once, we had an order for 30 bamboo tables,
the week
before Christmas.
We worked night and day.
They were piled high in our lounge and we
were cutting
out decoupage until the wee small hours.
Arundel.
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| You can just see our house in the distance LOL Not really, this is Arundel Castle. Although the original parts are centuries old, the main part of the castle was built in the Victorian era. |
Come along with me and have a walk................
I try to walk most days...been trying to lose weight.
Thanks goodness for Slimming World that's started in Arundel.
Sat morning in the Scout Hut opposite the surgery.
10 am.
Come along if you have a few pounds to shed.
I've lost just over a stone so far.
Happy to feel like me again instead of looking in the mirror to see puffy cheeks!.
My sister let slip the other day she had thought I was on steriods!
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| Arundel Park is my favourite place to walk. This is the Hiorne Tower. Everyone calls it a folly. Actually, its not. It was, apparently the proto type for the castle. Mr. Hiorne, the architect, however, died before he could build the main castle. |
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| Eat yer heart out Mr. Hitchcock...look at those birds |
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| Thats my old house down there on the right with the palms outside. In some previous life. I don't mean that in the supernatural way. I mean this life.... another time. LOL |
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| pretty little public garden in river road |
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| we have some interesting shops in the town... |
The Drinking Group with a Writing Problem.
"The Drinking Group with a Writing Problem."
Anyway, for anyone interested in Brighton,
which is where I was raised,
here's a little story I wrote about something happened to me as a teenager.
Happy Valley
By Brenda Nassarian
The waiting room was small.. Claustrophobic.
Magnolia coloured walls closed in on me.
No
posters.
No magazines.
No windows.
Just a Bakelite wall clock, four wooden chairs,
a small table on which stood an ashtray
and air that reeked of stale smoke.
Nothing to distract me.
“Oh God, I'm nervous.”
The door opened and a police sergeant came in holding a
steaming mug.
“Tea?”
He put the mug on the table as I stood up.
Smiling, I put
my arms around him.
“Hello Dad. Didn’t know you were working today.”
“An extra shift. They’re busy with all this going on. You
nervous love?”
“Bloody terrified,
Dad.”
“You’ll be fine. Someone will call you when we are
ready.”
He left, gently closing the door.
I sipped the tea and
leaned back resting my head against the wall.
Closing my eyes I tried to
remember.
Saturday May 6th 1967.
Happy Valley Park, Woodingdean
We lay on our stomachs, Maz, Pat and I, sunning the backs
of our legs.
The grass bank sloped gently down towards the cricket.
We weren’t
there to watch the match though.
Three pairs of eyes squinting against the
afternoon sun avidly
watched the group of Mods under the trees.
They were
tinkering and polishing their beloved lambrettas in the shade.
At 17 they
seemed older and more sophisticated than us.
They feigned complete disinterest in us 13 year old girls.
Occasionally
one or the other glanced our way.
One even nonchalantly winked at us.
Most weekends there would only be a handful of people in
the park.
Today though, it was packed.
The opposing cricket team had arrived in
a coach with supporters.
Dog walkers skirted the perimeter.
Young children and
their parents were by the swings.
There were queues at the ice cream kiosk and
teenage boys smoked behind the toilets.
My brother included.
It wasn’t too long
before that day he had thought stuffing tobacco inside a roll of ordinary paper
was the same as using Rizlas.
Mum and Dad quizzed him for ages about his singed
eyebrows, lashes and fringe.
Beyond the cricketers was a bank that rose steeply for
about half a mile.
The path on the brow linked the village of Ovingdean to the
main shops in Woodingdean.
Throughout the day, we idly watched people stroll up
and down the path.
They were dark silhouettes against the deep blue sky.
As the sun dipped behind the hill, the cricket match was
winding down.
“Shall we go?” Maz asked.
We all nodded.
“I’ll go get something to munch on the way home.”
Maz went around the corner to the small kiosk selling ice
creams and sweets.
She came back empty handed almost immediately.
“There’s police everywhere.” She shouted.
“They’ve closed the gates.”
At the gates there were police cars and officers
preventing people
from leaving until they had spoken to them.
“What time did you get here?”
“Who were you with?”
“What’s your name and address?”
All the way home
we speculated as to what had happened.
We walked up the steep Woodingdean hills
passing pre-fabs
that were erected just after the war, and a mix of bungalows
and houses that had been built in the late 1950’s and early ‘60’s. The Brighton
suburb was separated from the town by the race course.
It was a wonderful place for a child growing up.
Surrounded by the downs it had retained the feeling of a village.
We felt safe
and played in the streets, kicking balls, charging around on scooters and
roller skates, or going over the downs or park with our friends from a young
age.
“ You’re late. Everything ok?” Dad looked concerned.
“ Yeah, sorry Dad. Something happened at the park. There
were police everywhere.”
We didn’t have phones and it was the next day before we
found out.
“ The Lions Murder” screamed the headlines in the Brighton Evening Argus.
12 year old Keith Lions had walked the path from
Ovingdean to the shops at Wooding dean to buy a geometry set for his homework.
He was stabbed 11 times before he reached the village store.
In the days that followed police went from house to house
asking questions and interviewing people.
Any youths that were in the park on
the day were interviewed and finger printed.
I felt nervous when they interviewed me.
“How long were you at Happy Valley Park?”
“All afternoon. From about 2 o’clock.”
“Did you see anyone on the hill?”
“ Yes we watched people walking up and down.”
“Would you recognise them again?”
“I don’t know. I’m short sighted.”
The small community felt like it had been ripped apart.
Neighbours were viewed with suspicion.
Parents kept their children close.
Teenagers went home before dark and didn’t stray too far from home.
The three of us were horrified at what had happened
but
we did occasionally bask in the notoriety of being there on the day.
“Shameful,” I thought afterwards.
Time passed and the police seemed no nearer finding the
killer.
The tragic event left the Argus front pages surprisingly quickly.
The local’s
sense of horror faded and people got on with their lives.
All except the Lions family of course.
I was 22 married and living in Worthing when they phoned
me.
After all those years they had suspects in custody.
“We need you to attend an identity parade.”
“It was a long time ago. I’m short sighted. Will I be of
any use?”
“Come anyway.”
I opened my eyes and reached for my mug. The tea was
cold.
A police officer opened the door and smiled.
“Ready for you now, if you see anyone you recognise just
tap him on the shoulder.”
In the room six men were standing in a line, staring
blankly ahead.
Walking up and down I felt sick. Suppose it was someone I knew?
I thanked God I didn't recognise any of them.
Walking up and down I felt sick. Suppose it was someone I knew?
I thanked God I didn't recognise any of them.
“No, I’m sorry.”
"Are you sure? Take another look."
I had the feeling they were certain they had their man.
Trouble was it was such a long time ago.
I walked up and down again and as I left the room, shook my head.
"Are you sure? Take another look."
I had the feeling they were certain they had their man.
Trouble was it was such a long time ago.
I walked up and down again and as I left the room, shook my head.
In a brief attack, Keith Lions was stabbed 11
times in the stomach with a serrated kitchen carving knife after a mob of older
teenagers from a rival school jumped him, according to local people, then left
him to bleed to death on the path. The murder rocked the country. More than
80,000 homes were visited by Sussex police and 6,000 sets of fingerprints were
taken from schoolboys in the immediate area.
Both his parents died without ever knowing who
had murdered their son.
The case has never been solved.
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| Brighton |
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