I have just returned from my honeymoon in Whitby.
I grant you, it’s not the usual nuptial getaway,
like the tropics or the pyramids. But, as a Yorkshire lass, living 3000 miles away in Hollywood , it made perfect
sense to return to the seaside town I visited every summer as a girl, to recharge
my spirit by charging the 199 steps to the abbey, scoffing chips, swilling
cider, and jetting on the beach; learning about the fossilized monkey puzzle
tree and the difference between the jewelry
quality jet and sea coal.
Jet I picked from my trip and Victorian jet bracelet segments.
The trip, though short was a bit of a life changer.
One of my dreams in life is to build up my wearable costume business to a point where I can transport it to the studio from my future cottage in Whitby, to live and be inspired by
all the sea sprayed seasons and have Fortune’s kippers everyday for my brekkie.
For the present I want to take a break from LA, and
become a jetter in Whitby for a season, trailing the shore at low tide for
this ancient black gold. I will be content to put enough money in my pocket for a pint of cider of an evening, and to stay in the town, learning about the traditional craft and maybe apprentice to a jeweler, to learn how to work the
black properly.
Back in LA, I am going get out my mini dremel and to teach myself how to carve and
polish the pieces I picked with the hopes to use them in my work to make real ‘Modern
mourning’ collars.
They took my finger size and then made up the ring for me in under 2 hours, which is exactly enough time to go to Sherlock Holmes' cafe to eat a slice of cherry cake bigger than your head and then work it off, running up the steps to the abbey. Trust me.