Jamie's blog

There was once a little girl called Spirit.

She was on orphan which meant she had no parents, and she had very little to give apart from her kindness which to some is everything.

One winter day she saw a young Robin Red Breast who had no food.  So she shared her last piece of bread with him and they ate happily together.

Spirit and the Robin Red Breast

Whilst walking along a frozen lake, Spirit saw a fawn fall through the ice. A fawn is a baby reindeer.  Spirit slid across the ice and pulled the fawn out.  It was very cold and its nose had gone red so she took it to her friend Father Christmas who would take care of it.

Spirit and the fawn

Father Christmas was very happy to look after the reindeer and gave it a very special name that I am sure you all know. He was always happy to see Spirit as every time he saw her she gave him a present.  On this occasion she had given him his best friend.

Spirit giving Father Christmas his best friend

On her way home it began to get warm.  She saw her friend the Snowman but he was crying tears because he was melting.  Spirit made a coat of icicles to keep him cold until the coming of the night.  The snowman stopped crying and began to smile again.  Spirit had made him very happy.

Helping the snowman keep cold

There was an old lady who lived on the hill.  She was lonely in the dark winter nights because she had nobody to talk to.  Spirit and the snowman decided to fill her with joy by standing on her doorstep singing carols.  The old lady was so overjoyed that she began to sing too.

Spirit and the Snowman carol singing

Spirit loved Christmas and she woke to find a single present sitting at her feet.  Inside the paper she could feel that it was very soft and light.  She was very excited but managed to peel back the paper slowly so that she didn’t damage the present within.  When she looked the gift was white and made of feathers.  It was a pair of wonderful wings.

This is how Spirit became an Angel.  She is now known as the Spirit of Christmas and spreads joy and kindness.  Perhaps we can be like her too.

Jamie Wardley ©Sandinyoureye

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Ice Dolphins swimming with Tuna

It was a delight to introduce Andy Moss to his first Big Ice Project in Zwolle, Holland at the kind invitation of Huib Joor. Here there are sculptors from all over the world coming together to make a massive ice project. Of course, we landed fashionably late and had to try and catch up with everyone else who had already been there for three days. This was a lot easier to do with the help of Dutch carver Ludo Roders who rushed in to offer us support.

Together we made Dolphins and fish float in the air which was a very technical challenge for us but made easier by my new Japanese fusing saw and silk murderers gloves that give a little dexterity in these tricky -10 Celsius situations. Ice is an extremely strong material that allows you to do extremely dynamic sculptures and optical illusions. Fill your boots Mr Moss. It is only the beginning.

Jamie

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Ghost Ship Sand Drawing

Our big journey started with a sand drawing and sand sculpture on Barry Island for the lovely Sarah Jones.  One part of the team was on the sand drawing on the beach making a Ghost Ship stretched 400 meters across the shore.  I for the first time was not on the job and it was directed by Captain Andy Moss at the helm with the assistance of Lieutenant pAndora directing from the promenade and with Officer Jo Billingsley and Richard Green on the deck.  We were also joined by Officer Mary Murphy and a group of Sailors from Bristol University (UWE) who as always were fantastic.

Barry Island Sand Sculpture

I on the other hand was on the shore with Lieutenant Haigh and Officer Havers building a sand castle and being sure to make the walls strong enough to withstand the cannon fodder of the Ghost Ship.  I think we won the battle as the Ghost ship despite everyone’s efforts was swallowed up by the incoming tide at the end of the day and the sand castle is still standing.  We know how to make castles.

After the Barry Island campaign we said tallyho to our mateys who headed back up to great Yorkshire.  Andy Moss, Richard Green and I headed south to make some little cars for Ford on the wonderful beach of Polzeath, Cornwall.  One of the most poignant memories of that journey was getting out of the van in the dead of night to change drivers on a new moon and black clear sky.  But it was not totally black, as the night was so clear and dark that a sparkling silver cloud stretched across the length and breadth of the sky, each drop of water being a star, and the stars together being our Galaxy.  We were certainly blessed that night.

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Red Arrows, courtesy of the RN website

Andy Moss and James Haigh arrived early in Bournemouth to prepare the sand on Thursday. I was driving towards Bristol for a party to celebrate a sand drawing and was getting regular updates from the boys on the phone. “It’s a washout, it’s a washout!” I couldn’t really grasp what James was saying and had to go to the services to call them.

“Jamie, it is a total washout, it’s just been torrential rain, I’ve never seen anything like it. The winter gardens has just turned into a lake that comes up to the waist, cars are floating around round abouts and the sand is just washing away!”

“So is there no sand for the sculpture?”

“Well we put a tarp over it and most of it is still there. Andy even called in the RAF to give him some sand bags!” This was no jest as we were making a sand castle at the Bournemouth Air Show to celebrate 20 years of MARS Ice Cream. I really can’t believe it was 20 years since they came out, I remember looking at them in the freezer when I was a boy. So, so desirable and so beyond the realms of my non-existent pocket money. It was years before I could afford one, but how delicious it was.

The little lady and her dog

I eventually arrived in Bournemouth to find the boys tucked in bed in the hotel. They however were grim and full of frowns. With unrelenting sarcasm Andy piped under his great moustache “No, this is a great hotel Jamie, you would get a lot of money for selling the antique TV.” It was so old and large in fact, that I later used it as my desk. “……And the beds are damp, last night I woke up shivering!” The peace de resistance however was that the ensuit to the toilet was separated by a partition, and the partition was made of frosted glass. This made for some very intimate bonding after breakfast.

medievil sand castle

We cracked on for two days and had a great time making our sand castle, sometimes a little embarrassed as when the red arrows were flying by some people were taking photographs of us rather than them. “It’s the Red Arrows, turn the other way!” They were as all the other times I’ve seen them spectacular, swooping from all directions to make their manoeuvres with all the grace and power of the Jets that they fly; splashing paint in the sky that is their canvas. After they departed Andy turned to me and described that watching them had left a lump in his throat, perhaps because he admired so much their dedication to becoming what they are. “I thought being a sand sculptor was the best job in the world, but now I think it is the Red Arrows.” Unknown to us at the time, moments after they departed back to the airport one of the jets ‘Red 4’ plummeted to the ground and crashed not far from where we actually were. Before impact, it is thought that Lt John Egging managed to steer his jet away from a shopping centre and towards a field. However, he ejected too late and died doing something that he loved. Although tragic there is something poignant in a man following the path of his dreams. He may have been young when he died but he was truly living his life. Let him be an inspiration to us all.

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And here we have it….

Sandinyoureye has helped make the world’s largest stop motion animation made with our sand drawing in collaboration with Aardman Animation (Wallace and Gromit) and Sumo Science.  And what’s more, all this was shot on a small camera phone called a Nokia N8!

Below is the film itself.  Enjoy!

And the making of….

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Andy Moss and the Beethoven Sand Sculpture

Whilst shovelling some sand below Beethoven’s chin I turned to Andy Moss. “So lets go and see a show tonight.”

Andy returned my gaze with a quizzical scepticism. “Oh yeah?  Why’s that then?”

“Well, we are making a sculpture for a classical music festival and we should probably see some classical music.”

“Mmm.”  Mr Moss eyed me even more suspiciously.  “And that’s the only reason is it?”

Whatever did he mean I thought to myself.  “Well yes.  We could go tomorrow night but there is a really good tune being played tonight that I really like and I think you will all really enjoy it.  It’s called Lark Ascending by Vaughan Williams and is one of the most magical tunes around”

“….And there’s no other reason why we are going? You see there is usually some other reason that we don’t know about.”

I was beginning to feel offended.  “Nope, just the music”

Mr Moss began to twist the ends of his moustache neatly in his thumb and forefinger, deep in contemplation of the situation.  “Ok.”  He was evidently willing to sit this one out and await the true conclusion.  “We will see.”

We were at the East Neuk Music Festival again making a sand sculpture in the village of Crail outside the glorious Honey Pot Café with Graham and Edna that is home to the world famous Crail Carrot Cake (claimed to be made by Page).  We were making a sculpture on the theme of Beethoven with Dan Glover from America working on the music score, me the face of Beethoven, and Andy Moss the haircut.  It was a somewhat daunting experience on account of it being a portrait of sorts and Beethoven’s miserable expression.  It is very true that if I am making a laughing face then it makes me laugh and smile, and the converse is true with a miserable face.  Still I plodded on.  I was encouraged greatly however when someone thought that it was to be Margaret Thatcher and then another Lady Gaga.  Lildhi who was one of the stewards looking after the sculpture said it was going to give her nightmares. Thanks for that.

On that note, I decided to go all the way and take up on Dan Glovers suggestion and give it roaming eyes.  You see there is an optical illusion where if you sculpt an object concave (negative) rather than convex (positive) as normal, then it will appear to follow you.  And so it was that Beethovens black eyes would follow you constantly no matter where you were.

Beethoven is watching you!

Some hours later we had arrived at the concert hall and watched the first half of the concert which was entirely strings.  “Well she was pulling some funny expressions.”  This was the half time commentary by Mr Moss on the violin soloist’s Isabelle van Keulen performance after the interval.  She is a very charismatic violinist from Holland and she is characteristically blond and tall as the Dutch tend to be.  It was evidently her that was to play the Lark Ascending.  “…..So why are we really here Jamie?”

“I told you, there is a really good piece later on.  You will like it.”

Dan then rolled into conversation with tired looking eyes, “Oh, man, I nearly fell asleep there, I need a coffee.” The poor lad looked like he had just got out of bed.  During the concert I had to pinch the soft tissue of his hand at one moment to stop him from dosing off.  “It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just so soothing that it just lulls me off to sleep!”

For the second half we took our seats and we were this time accompanied by Tilly and Mohsina who were fashionably late as they are just so cool.  Mohsinah also had a cold which was great as she added to the lulls in the music with her sniffles.  But the second half was much more lively and nobody was dozing off this time.  Schubert woke us all up and got our feet tapping.  I was so excited by the sight of the trombones (I used to play the trumpet) that I had to correct myself for using some colourful expletives.  I was in civilised company now.  It has been said to me many times, you can take the boy out of Bradford, but you cannot take Bradford out of the boy.

And back onto the stage came the lead violinist Isabelle van Keulen.  I was by this stage a little nervous due to Mr Moss’s probing accusations and the fact that I’d brought everyone here to pretty much listen to this piece.  I myself had heard it many times on the radio and then began to realise that it is actually a very difficult piece to play and some fourteen minutes long.  I began to question whether this tall Dutch lady could play this delicate solo.  As she walked on there was lots of clapping and nodding, but I did detect some nerves from her, and rightly so, only later did I find out that she had never played this at a concert before.  The audience then went quiet and she propped the tiny violin that is 250 years old onto her shoulder and then clamped it there with her chin, occasionally releasing her hands from it entirely to make sure it was balanced and secured comfortably.  Her expression was now sombre and totally concentrated.  It was just her and the violin, building up to the moment when her bow would move across the strings and the piece would begin.

Total Silence, no movement from anybody.  And then the Lark began to Ascend.

There is something utterly compelling about music.  What is in the fabric of a rhythm and sound that can make people stand aghast with such joy and amazement?  The sounds that came from that little violin and the supporting Scottish Chamber Orchester were as sweet as Dan Glover’s honey, and all were licking their lips and some wiping their eyes towards the end.  But as if this was not enough, Isabelle played the piece so magnificently that even the seagulls chimed in their calls in perfect pitch to celebrate this wonderful piece of music.  Vaughan Williams, thank you so much for such an amazing piece, and Isabelle van Keulen you were fantastic.  Even Mr Moss had to almost concede that my true intentions were to see the music.  But still there is an element of doubt in the end of his moustache!

Oh, and we also did some sand drawings just to throw in an added extra.

Brittle Star

Star Fish Sand Drawing

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I’m laying down on a grassy knoll that is perched on the top of a sea cliff just out of Pendine in Wales. I’ve taken the path along the coast for a quick stroll and saw this nice little spot just a few yards away.  There are gulls flying over above, the occasional chaff chaffing away.  I’m now facing the sky and listening to the waves thundering against the cliffs and sending spray up in the air, it is high tide and a storm has just passed, their barrage against the cliffs is relentless.  I have a deep sense of contentment that glows inside against the cold wind and light rain.  I am beginning to doze off into a gentle welcomed sleep, I am totally still now, arms splayed out and the waves singing to me, the birds beginning to take flight in my dreams, their song in the local dialect, they are speaking as if with real words.  And then their tone begins to change, it starts to become a little harsher, there is a commotion, a sudden distress.

“Oh, my god!” squawks the bird in a thick Welsh accent.  “Look over there!”  There is a shrill scream.  I am becoming very confused, beginning to wake and not sure why the birds are talking and screaming “It’s a body!”  The birds have turned into children, Suddenly I begin to realise I have fallen asleep, I begin to wake, but I was more asleep than I had realised and it takes some time.  “He’s dead!” says a Child’s young voice still very young, but old enough to go and explore by themselves.    My brain is now almost fully awake but my body is way behind.   I manage to move my head.  Another scream at the added shock of the corpse coming to life.  “I’m not dead!”  “Oh my God!” “I’m not dead, it’s OK, I’m not dead, just having a sleep”

“He’s not dead, he’s saying he’s not dead.”  There is then a pause of contemplation followed by a sudden tone of reprimand.  “Well, you could at least have answered when I shouted at you!”

“Sorry, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m not dead.”

And then with a parting shot “I thought I was going to have to resuscitate you!” And then on they went, their voices fading away into the distance.  It is good to know that the children of Wales are all abled to perform resuscitation when required.  I don’t think I disturbed them too much, I’m sure they see English corpses scattered all over the place.

But I welcomed this short sleep on the sea cliff.  As I said, I had a deep sense of contentment inside and its warmth had made me drowsy and seduced me into a sleep.  We had just done something rather marvellous on the beach just in the bay there.  It was once again an example of being in a special place whilst making something quite spectacular with some simply amazing people, especially those that had volunteered and were embracing the weather sheltering in only their tents.  We had together with those from Aardman and Ed and Will from Sumo Science began to make the largest……

I don’t think I should say yet. 

The Gulp Set

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The Super Lunar moon and the Light Trails. Photographed by Sarah Boocock

I find it is important to look to the future so that we can develop ourselves and project where we want to be in time to come.  But I often feel that this is at the expense of now.  When I look back in the past, I do not remember what I wanted to be and where I wanted to go, I remember what I was, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with.  I remember the moment that was once my present.

The system. Photographed by Thomas Wood

Every moment that we have is unique in itself even in the most subtlest form as it is always different and can never be attained again as the ingredients are never the same.  It may be as defined as twenty people drawing in the sand and the sky with lights under a Super Lunar Moon, or as undefined as a parents young child being another day older.  But these undefined moments are just as important and easy to neglect, they may seem mundane but I do not think they are as before you know it the ingredients that make this moment will no longer exist.

A ball of light in the sky and a drawing in the sand is fleeting, immediately epic and then gone.  But these subtle moments are also epic but deceptive as they are so prolonged.  A child may only be one day older today, but one day he will be a man, and one day that man will have fallen from the earth entirely.

Super Lunar moon and the Electric Brigade. Photographed by Joel Ingham.

The fountains. Photographed by Thomas Wood

These drawings are a representation of cherishing the moment in its most obvious form.  Each stream of light is a person on the beach, each photograph is a person behind a lens.  But when I look at these photographs I remember the laughter of my friends as they moved the lights around on four meter poles, my wet feet, the lighting of a candle to a friend that has departed, the embrace of a friend that had fallen from my consciousness only to return, the jokes that passed over the walkie talkies, the beauty of the night sky, the candle lighting brigade, the fireball that singed hair on legs, the hot dog that was cooked up for everyone before we left the beach, the full moon.

Time is the most precious thing that we have to share and give to each other as one day it will run out.  It expresses itself in the moment in grand and subtle ways.  Enjoy them.

Many thanks to Andy Moss for collaboration on design, and for the drawings themselves Tom bolland, Hannah Bolland, Richard Green, Henri, Thomas Wood, Tim Curtis, Becky Sayers, Jonny Sayers, Rae Owen, Mike Copleston, Ruth, Joel Ingham, Sarah Boocock, Chris Owen and Samantha Yates.

Jamie

The Super Lunar Moon and the cones of light. Photographed by Thomas Wood

Explosions of Light. Photographed by Thomas Wood

The super Lunar Moon and the domes of light. Photographed by Thomas Wood

The super lunar moon and the fire ball. Photographed by Joel Ingham

Fountains of light. Photographed by Joel Ingham

The Triangle. Photographed by Thomas Wood.

One stands still but eight are still moving. Photographed by Sarah Boocock

Waiting. Photographed by Thomas Wood

The four moons. Photographed by Joel Ingham

Super Lunar Moon. Photographed by Thomas Wood

Interaction and bounce. Photographed by Thomas Wood

Nest of Light. Photographed by Joel Ingham

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The Bar tailed godwit

My alarm chirped at me and it was 3am.  I’d not had much sleep on account of my head been so busy with grids, measurements and images. and I was rising so early to finalise designs for the day to come.  In an hour and a half we were to descend onto the beach to make a protest against a proposal for a coal fired power station on our shores with the RSPB (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds).  The proposal would destroy a wading area for birds and significantly contribute to climate change.  There is no need in this day and age for Britain to source such energy; is it not so windy over here after all.

I woke Andy Moss at 4am.  His face was uncharacteristically blank and like a zombie he clothed himself, carefully taking one step after another, slowly becoming more alert as his body arose from its deep sleep.  At that moment there was a knock at the door and Jo Billingsley popped her head through.  Our quartet was almost complete.

We drove down to the beach in the dead of night, me desperately trying to see through the windscreen all fogged up by the warmth of our bodies snatched from our beds.  It wasn’t far to the beach and when we arrived there was no one but ourselves, the beach lit up for a moment by our headlights and then black as I turned off the engine.

The Super Nova sequence with the solar orbs at Druiridge Bay

We were to make two drawings that day.  One set of images were to be birds flying down the beach.  The negative space would be highlighted by the signatures of those people who had signed the protest, it was to be a visual demonstration.  This idea had come from some work we had done the week before.  Working with a youth group we had made some solar orbs in negative space with squiggles as the flares to highlight them.  Some of the kids had made pictures instead of squiggles; others had signed the images with their names.  It dawned on me that it would be poignant to make the birds using the signatures from the protest.  The Signature Bird was born; this was to be done by me and Jo with the help of the RSPB volunteers.  The second image was to be a face of a girl cracking as though it was in a dry river bed.  This was to be done by Andy Moss, the Mexican, the Major, the Moustache; he goes by so many names.  Joining Andy was to be Pandorà.  The quartet was complete.

Pandorà was waiting for us on the walkway.  We met her last week in Bradford whilst we struggled with some preparations.  She offered to help us.  She is an unassuming character and at first I was not sure what is was that she could do.  But now I feel a little embarrassed at how I underestimated her and I think I speak for everyone to say that we were blown away by her insight.  In the hours that she bestowed upon us sand drawing was changed forever and it seems a revolution in how to draw large images occurred that day.   I cannot tell you who or what she is exactly as I fear she may blow your mind.  What I can say though is that she is the Truth Teller and the All Seeing Eye.  She has such a noble and regal air that I feel she must be some sort of princess in another far off country that is perhaps not even of this world.

In the dark the four of us began plotting out the main points of the face image, overcoming obstacles that the darkness posed against us as they arose.  Like a drone Andy buzzed around the beach plotting the markers whilst Pandorà instructed him where to go in her calm stately fashion.  If it were me and Andy alone trying to plot the markers in the dark, then we would be fumbling around with frustration for hours only to get it wrong.  But Pandorà instantly knows where everything should go without any tapes or string; it is quite remarkable.

Soon the RSPB volunteers began to arrive and the drawing commenced.  Jo and I went to make the bird images that were to be photographed by the Aeroplane which is piloted by Nigel King.  Nigel is an incredible character and I feel that he needs a story of his own.  For now he is the magician of the air, taking incredible photographs that are far superior to any others that we have had in the past.

Jamie posing for the cameras with The cracking face. Drawn by Andy Moss and Pandora

It is characteristic of large sand drawings that you are often isolated in your own space as the team is so spread out along the beach.  Occasionally there is talking on the radio reassuring you that you are not alone.  Hand poised on stick, stick drawing in the sand, making marks that are yet to be signed with the rake.  We drew for four hours right until the sea was lapping at the wing of our final bird which was my favourite the Bar-tailed Godwit.  Myself and Jo drew it together in haste to try and beat the tide and we got the raking team to come and sign it before we had even finished the drawing.  I could not see the finished result as I had to run the 600 meters down the length of the beach for a press call on the work of Andy and Pandorà.  It was fantastic.  An anamorphosised face that was 100 meters long, done by just the two of them.  We posed for the journalists before the tide took the image.

The Bar Tailed Godwit signed in the sand

It was to be a great success on Irvine beach that day.  We did not know it at the time as we were so exhausted and ready to go to bed, our eyes glazed.  But we could not go to bed as we had to drive home for five hours to verdant Yorkshire.  The morning had been so intense that it passed into a dream like memory.  It was only the next day that we realised how successful it had been as the images of the face appeared in newspapers up and down the country.

“Jamie, I just saw your face in the Metro  and the Telegraph!”  This was a message from a dear friend of mine Danielle.  What surprised me though is that she was writing from Sydney Australia.  The images had gone global.

My thanks to Andy, Jo, Pandorà, the people at the RSPB and finally Nigel King who took all the ariel images.

Jamie

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Me and Mom

“Mommy, I’m tired.”  I am four years old and walking back from Grassington to the campsite in Appletreewick in the verdant Yorkshire Dales with my Mom, my hand holding hers. It is six miles away and I have already walked 6 miles there earlier that day.  I reiterate, I am only four years old.  My little legs are aching, I am so small and tired that I’m swaying as I walk, my ginger hair bobbing like a dandelion in the breeze, my eyes are blinking sleepily, taking in the rolling hills dotted with white sheep, my eyes close for a little longer this time, blackness, they open again and are greeted by the hills once more.  My mom looks down at me sympathetically and squeezes my hand twice.  She does this occasionally to let me know she’s thinking about me. I squeeze back.

“Close your eyes Jamie and sleep whilst you’re walking, I will guide you.”  My wonderful mother holds my hand more firmly; ready to show me the way.  I quickly resign to this, I know I am too heavy to carry now and that the only way back home is to walk.  I close my eyes. The green hills give way to darkness and I can only hear now as I sway from side to side, my hair tickling my cheeks as it bobs, my moms hand guiding me through the fields, the sound of the river Wharfe tinkling away gently to my right side, twittering birds flying over head, lambs baying to their mothers.  Blissful sounds and scents pass through me, soothing my aching legs, they are still working; as long as my legs are still working then everything is OK.

There is a slight rise in the path, but I do not falter, I have total faith in my mother, her grip tightens as she guides me, we must be navigating something difficult, I wonder what it is?  I then feel her hand move forward a little in a surge and then at the last moment she pulls back.  But before I stop naturally my four year old body jolts dead as it collides with an unmoveable object, I hear the crunch of my forehead jar against something firm followed by a dull pain. I open my eyes blinded by the light, they gradually adjust and I am confused by what I see.  There is a dry stone wall in front of my face and I seemed to have walked into it, but how can that be, my mom is holding my hand.

I look up to her, at first her expression is blank, and then her eyes narrow to creases and her cheeks bulge, her mouth widens and her body begins to spasm.  Although my head hurts I am firstly worried about my mother, she is convulsing now and her hand is held over her mouth, her breathing is erratic and interspersed by strange squeaks as she gasps for breath.  The squeaks get louder and are now joined by grunts and shouts.  Her eyes are so creased up that I can barely see them, tears are streaming from her eyes.  I then I realise.  I am generally not the sharpest tool in the box and at four years old was a little behind schedule. For a moment her convulsions lessen and her hand comes away from her mouth to reveal a broad grin, she caresses my forehead apologetically.  There is a momentary pause; the sound of sheep baying comes back to my ears.  And then it finally happens, my dear mother explodes with laughter, she is laughing at me, unable now to look me in the eye; unashamed raucous laughter, she holds her sides and doubles over bent should her ribs burst.  She has just walked me into a dry stone wall for the fun of it.  This is one of my earliest memories of cruel humour.  I laughed my four year old ass off.

The six mile walk home suddenly became shorter after that moment.  It soon became a game to see if I could catch my mom out from walking me into a wall again. I quickly became adept at this as I spied new targets ahead, but then she soon changed strategy and started walking me into trees and after that cow pat.  It was fun all the way home.

This feeling of nostalgia hit me last week as we carved away at the National Railway Museum, and after that Morecambe Bay.  The sculpting was great to do as always, but the very special thing was my time spent with one of my fellow sand sculptors.  A very talented woman who stole the show with her sign writing at the museum.  But for me it is the little bundle of life that is growing in her belly that is quite amazing, the way her body is changing seemingly every day to allow for it to grow and to nourish it.  I am told that as a man I am so lucky because I can wee standing up, but I would say that having a child grow inside you takes the biscuit.  Two hearts beating inside the same body.  It’s a great time for her now, but also the future, all the moments that her and her child will spend together that will one day become fond memories. Perhaps she too will walk her child into walls for the fun of it.

Jamie

Ps.  A special congratulations to the Mexican Andy Moss for fulfilling a boyhood dream of tooting the horn of a real steam train.  Andy has the actual model of the train he tooted at home.

The Mexican fulfilling his boyhood dream, "Toot, Toot!"

National Railway museum sand sculpture

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