Latest news with #TheBookLounge
Yahoo
19-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Artists to discuss book-length collaboration Wild Folk at special event
Two artists will make an appearance in Kirkby Lonsdale to discuss their new book-length collaboration. Author and artist Jackie Morris, and stained glass artist and illustrator Tamsin Abbott, will be at St Mary's Church on Friday, August 8, to discuss their new book Wild Folk - a collection of illustrated tales featuring such creatures as selkies, silver trout, and the black fox. Valerie Laycock, owner of The Book Lounge and organiser of the event, said: "We're delighted to welcome both Jackie and Tamsin to Kirkby Lonsdale for this truly special event. "We've long been fans of their work, which is not only inspired by the nature of the world around them, but the world of myths, fairytales, and our ancient connections to the landscape." Morris has written and illustrated more than 70 books, including The Snow Leopard, Tell Me a Dragon, and The Unwinding. Morris's works include The Snow Leopard, The Ice Bear, Song of the Golden Hare, and Tell Me a Dragon, as well as the 2017 collaboration with Robert Macfarlane, The Lost Words (Image: Seven Fables) The Lost Words, her 2017 collaboration with Robert Macfarlane, aimed to reintroduce nature-based words into children's vocabulary, and was praised as a "cultural phenomenon" and an "instant classic." Abbott, a stained glass artist based in Herefordshire, draws inspiration from the British landscape, folklore, and fairytale. Her work is created using mostly glass from the last remaining manufacturer of mouth-blown sheet glass in the United Kingdom. She is a member of the British Society of Master Glass Painters, and has exhibited at the Museum of British Folklore, the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic, and numerous other UK galleries. Abbott's work is inspired by the orchards, hills, woods, plants, birds, and animals that grow and live around her Herefordshire home (Image: Seven Fables) Morris said: "It is very special to be able to bring Wild Folk to Cumbria, a county of such stunning nature as well as a rich tapestry of folklore." Abbott said: "This book is born out of friendship and faith; a conviction that we could make something very special together born out of trust, excitement, and a little madness." Tickets are available at
The Citizen
23-06-2025
- The Citizen
Most of us look away from misery
Every night, there are people huddled outside in the dark and the rain. Wintertime, walking through Cape Town in the dark, in the rain… It's not as desperate as it sounds. There were six of us – safety in numbers – and we'd been at an event at The Book Lounge and were now meeting friends at an Italian eatery two blocks away, The Cousins Trattoria, where we'd eat bowls of pasta prepared at the table inside a giant Grana Padano cheese wheel. Soon we were 11 and the wine flowed and it was so cosy that the older gent sitting next to me went to the bathroom to take off his vest. He's from parochial Fish Hoek and I laughed when he said: 'Wow, I never knew there were places like this in the city.' Naturally we closed the restaurant, then tottered out into the squall and got an Uber home. Yet that is not what stays with me about a delightful evening. Instead, as I took our guests the two dark blocks to dinner, I saw a strange sight ahead. In the shadows, in the wet, underneath the overhang of a storefront, there was the flash of a high-vis vest, the shine of wet plastic under a streetlight, and it seemed that workers on the sidewalk were bailing up duvets in bags, some 20 or 25 sausages of fabric and clear plastic, all of the bundles laid out in a row outside the shop. ALSO READ: Got an address? Prove it As I moved my little band of merry diners into the street to get by, I realised they weren't bailing duvets at all. They were bailing humans. These were homeless people wrapped in blankets, then tightly cocooned in bags to keep dry, lying close together on the pavement for safety and warmth. A couple of people in yellow jackets – presumably charity workers – were helping them. I looked away, quickly marching on, in part in fright, in part in shame, in part for fear of stealing their dignity as if that hadn't already happened, as if sleeping on the streets wasn't already discomfort and privation enough. But mostly I looked away. Then I went to dinner and went home and found that my hotel pillow was harder than I'd have liked, although not as hard as a pavement. Every night, there are people huddled outside in the dark and the rain. And, mostly, we look away at the miserable life. NOW READ: Afrikaner 'refugees' spot a ruse
