The Secret Diary of an Edwardian Country Lady Vampyre Hunter (part IV)

The cataclysmic events which brought me here were now but a distant memory
as I perched above the blackened void which presented itself before me. I had to 
summon the courage to proceed and after what seemed like an eternity I finally
made the move. I took one step onto the cold and damp flagstone stairs that 
disappeared below the ancient building into the impending bowels of hell. One
after the other my footsteps echoed around the inky blackness as I descended,
slowly....purposefully.
On reaching the base of my only means of escape I stopped and breathed the stale,
dank air of the crypt. Somewhere ahead in the darkness I could just make out the
faint 'skritch, skritch, skritch' that gently reverberated around the vaulted ceiling and
stone floor........there was someone there!
My vice like grip tightened around the roughly shaved wooden stake which rested in
the pocket of my greatcoat. With my other hand I fumbled with infantile coordination 
for the crucifix that I knew was hanging around my neck on a piece of frayed twine.
My presence was noticed as the noise stopped abruptly and was followed by
a deafening silence. I could now just make out a figure crouching by the largest
of the stone memorials at the end of the chamber and without hesitation it 
started to slowly move. The figure grew as it stood, it grew to well over six feet
in height as it straightened out until eventually it was clearly visible in the dim light.
I grasped at the crucifix and held it high as I shouted "Nosferatu...I see you!"
Again silence. The dark eyes of the figure were now looking directly at me and I
shouted again "Nosferatu....I...I see you!" The deafening silence was only matched 
by the pounding heart in my chest. I could now hear the crunching of gravel
beneath the figure's feet as it slowly made its way towards me.
"Nosfer...Nosferatuthingy....oh he's up at Castle Drogo doing their septic tank,
I'm Dave and you have air in your radiators love.


An interesting series of events occurs at SX731774 The location is Bonehill Rocks, a
 large scattering of granite boulders laid out over a hillside sat majestically high above 
Widecombe in the Moor. It is here on most evenings, around the time that the golden
orb of life drops off the end of our fertile globe sending an explosion of billions of
shards of purple, red and orange light high into the darkening azure sky above.....they
congregate! When I say they, of course I mean the army of photographers who gather
around the rocks and point their tripod mounted lenses westward to capture THE shot 
of the century. There must be a collective name for photographers, I don't know it
so I shall introduce the collective noun, a 'smugness' of photographers. The last 
time that I pointed my camera in the direction of the rapidly failing sun, I was met with
a fairly frosty look filled with distain from the man with the biggest lens I have ever
seen. I could hear him discussing ISO settings and exposure compensation.....oo...
compensation, big lens...yes I see now. Needless to say I started clicking away and
captured some superb images. Big lens man was having issues as he clearly wasn't
clicking anything. The lens came off and I could hear his disapproval to the fact that 
a huge amount of dust had become attached to his sensor.


Amelia's top tip no. IV When removing a DSLR lens from the body, make sure that
the camera is turned off as there is an electromagnetic charge that builds up inside
and will attract dust directly into the recess and ultimately directly onto the sensor.


Big lens man I am assuming didn't and as a result, it did. 


I have recently been watching a large amount of vampyre films for no apparent 
reason other than they happen to just be on. I must point one thing out though, not
the Twilight saga. My perfect reworking of the film would involve Buffy...well 
you know what direction that would travel in. One late night Hammer Horror
also fell wildly short of its ability to entertain as I believe it must have been made very
late on a Friday afternoon when all of film crew were itching to go home. I sat 
through the entire film without one chuckle of being entertained, I want
Christopher Lee back. And as I am on the subject, Mr. Burton's latest 
celluloid extravaganza featuring one Mr. Depp that also had some location
shoots right on my doorstep, looks like it most definitely will entertain.


Amelia's top tip no. V When suspecting that a neighbour is actually Nosferatu,
a walker of the night, under no circumstances must you attempt to drive a wooden
stake through their hearts as it usually gets frowned upon by the local
authorities. Which brings me neatly into
Amelia's top tip no. VI I am not a vampyre so please stop throwing garlic at me,
I like garlic very much but not when it is launched in my general direction from 
across the road when I am looking in the baker's window.


Since my last post which involved Moomin's wanton destruction of a starched linen
tablecloth through the medium of jam, we have since returned to the scene of the crime 
where the ladies of the cake emporium were none the wiser. We entered recently and
purchased what can best be described as a wholly obscene and voluminous 
pile of cake based objects that was accompanied by surely one of the largest teapots
in the south west that I have ever seen. We were also encouraged to take extra cake
home with us as they had clearly overdone the baking. This particular cream tea venue
has the strangest bathroom facilities that I had ever come across. It involved entering 
through a huge studded door which led through a small panelled room. 
As I perched above the blackened void which presented itself before me......

Amelia's Curious Series of Unfortunate Events.

"So can you do it?" I had to think long and hard about the answer "I really need you for

this, you're the only person that I know who is a bit, well......odd....pleeeease!"

"Oh, alright" I replied.

Well then, that will be me modelling again in the not too distant future, for

my good friend's illuminating and fantastical display of nail sculpting and creativity.

My reluctance is fairly evident due to my previous visitation to the salon of all things

'pink and evil', where slightly over preened peroxide maidens pointed and

whispered as to the presence of the raven haired maiden who ended up shifting

uncomfortably in her seat for the duration of the experimental treatment that she

were to encounter there.

Not that I am adverse to the wonders of turning my badly chipped and damaged nails

into extremely gorgeous and perfect creations of feminine beauty, it's just that

my creative side tends to whisk me delicately through the air and deposit me

unceremoniously with a thump back at the drawing board once my hands become

involved with Dremel drills and such objects of destruction.

The other day, my hands were doing precisely that. At long last I have decided to

exhibit some of the photos from the Camera Obscura series, the chosen method of

display shall be the inclusion of Victorian style curio cases. These shall hold objects

which have a certain relevance towards the chosen subjects. One such case has

a ghostly floating dolls head.....actually, a dolls face that has been removed with

quite some exertion via the means of a very sharp serrated kitchen knife. During the

horrendous act where the toy doll and her face were quietly parting company, I had

to stop my sawing in mid saw. I viewed the scene as something quite awful

and horrendous, then I remembered the peroxide preen queens from the salon

after which I carried on sawing this time with some renewed enthusiastic vigour.

Remaining with the 'at long last' expression, the Vanstone 'construction' studio is

now occupied and enjoying the sounds of banging, crashing, music and also

providing yet another environment for me to mangle my nails in. I must admit that

the use of two separate studios, at times seems a trifle excessive but the battle

over land occupation between my artwork and shoes had come to a speedy and

fairly conclusive finale with the purchase of some very high, black strappy

heels that performed the same act as that of the proverbial straw with the

unfortunate camel's back.

For reasons unknown, various people have made it their mission to purchase

all sorts of oddities and weird toys for the inclusion in the up and coming show,

now it appears that I am becoming overrun with this random assortment.

I shall use this opportunity to bid you all an enormous thank you but......

please stop, I really couldn't justify the acquiring of Vanstone studio number three.

(On a completely random note, I had a delightful comparison made to me the other

day, apparently I reminded somebody of a younger Morticia Addams, this put a huge

grin on my face which unfortunately ruined the likeness as I can't recall if she

actually smiled or not.)

The very springlike feel on Dartmoor has me now waking from my winter slumber

and wanting to learn new things. Of course when I say learn, I really don't mean

learn as in 'I have learnt that Macbooks dislike gin and tonic' or 'I have learnt that it

is probably not a good idea to cut cardboard with a scalpel on the carpet' oh I could

go on, but no, I mean learn as in the ability to carve wood or advanced metalwork...

that sort of thing. The current series of work has left me with the burning desire to

discover how to use old fashioned crafts with real materials as opposed to

plastic.......I really dislike plastic. No doubt one of the reasons why the casual

telephonic sales caller who tries to sell me plastic doors or windows will suffer the

full wrath of Amelia as they try to talk me into discarding my two hundred year old

hand made oak framed windows for some identically proportioned windows made

recycled yoghurt pots of something similar.

I shall now be returning to the studio to separate more heads from the shoulders

of innocent, badly painted, straw haired dolls, all in the name of creativity. Thinking

about it, I could do exactly the same thing when my presence is required in the

'pink palace of beauty salon' later this month......well I can pretend.

I can just picture the pale and anaemic one who is the only person smiling to

herself as she mentally lops the heads off of the orange faced individuals.

The Rebirth of the Oak King

Mother Earth I offer to you this song

For I am earth

and to the Earth, I belong

Mother Earth

help me grow as you need me to

Mother Earth

show me what I am here to do


'Cause I am growing, I am changing

on this darkest day

I am growing, I am changing

in my darkest place

I am growing, I am changing

on this darkest day

I am growing, I am changing

in my darkest place


Blessed Be!

On this shortest day of the year my thoughts turn to the more spiritual things,

however, the casual observer may not agree as I sit here eating Pringles and listening

to 'smells like teen spirit' at a fairly hefty volume. Dartmoor doesn't appear to be

doing its winter sleep as usual, and in turn it is confusing my hibernation

schedule and for those who know me, if my routine gets broken I can become

quite unsettled. The illicit and highly improbable love child of Abby Sciuto and

Sheldon Cooper has been launched comparatively in my direction.....if it

weren't true I would say NOT FUNNY.......in fact I will say NOT FUNNY

anyway just to provoke stimulating confrontation.

"He painted in the dark until he went completely mad....either that

or he died of lead poisoning"

Painting is now back on the agenda as I have recently rediscovered my mojo in a

visionary and most spectacular fashion. A long distant friend has breezed

through my art career which was just enough to start the Amelia Monster

springing back to life again. His huge success has been an inspiration which is

good....what is not good is the fact that I have been painting all week and I

have been neglecting Christmas present buying duties, so what better day to

finish my reluctant journey into consumerism than tomorrow's winter solstice

although I just know Costas coffee will be luring me into her depths via the

overpowering spell of the bean.

"Orange is this season's black"

Ok...not really. The big dramatic change to my appearance was the subtle colour

change to my hair from raven black to pre raphaelite fire maiden, or jaffa cake orange

as it was also called, so once again.....NOT FUNNY! The main drawback

was that every mirror I passed, there in front of me was the Lady of Shallot

staring back at me. I suspect that the December backdrop wasn't exactly the correct time

of year that Millais had envisaged the colouring to be set, and with that firmly fixed

in my mind, a hour of messing around with dye and scissors and hey presto, Bettie

Page is back in the Devonian longhouse.

"I managed to fix the clock...and I have all these bits left over"

My very old clock has been acting up and chiming at bizarre times. When asking

someone in the know about what the problem may be, there came the reply

"have you tried turning it off and on again" followed by hysterical laughter.

NOT FU.........well you know what I said by now. The clock is now working again

but other things are acting up (and the full moon has long passed so it's

not that) My iPad has started doing weird things to apps..Moomin with her

identical tablet with identical apps isn't having trouble. I think that the further up the

valley from Bovey that one goes, technology seems to become overwhelmed by

granite crystal energy (as I mentioned in a previous post) The Apple store hate it

when I come in and blame crystal energy playing a huge part in corrupting

their IOS devices, I need lead lined covers for my technology around the home.

"and now for something completely different"

Food has been playing a starring role in the lead up to Christmas. Picky teas and mad

hatter's tea parties, all washed down with copious amounts of cider have been

on the agenda. Dancing around the front room to the Monster Ball again as we

sang along to the full Gaga repertoire. Sleeping....well at last. Purchasing even

more shoes via the powers of Amazon. Watching lost ramblers pass the house, not

once but four times......NOT FUNNY FOR THEM...highly amusing for us. Making

more clothes by hand and turning my fingers into pin cushions as I watched

Diagnosis Murder in a Dick Van Dykeathon. Most of all....looking forward to

Christmas with friends and family.

So tomorrow morning I shall be up at five thirty and lighting the candle to welcome

the sun back into our lives. After spending a deeply relaxed morning, this fair

maiden will leave her homestead to do battle with the fearsome dragons and

trolls of the village as they shop for last minute Christmas presents.

Happy Yuletide good people x

Closing the Circle

Mulled wine, I really want some mulled wine...having returned to the shire from

another epic journey, my mind has started its November cravings fairly early.

The six day pout is now wearing off, having missed my two best friend's

Wiccan blessing at the Cleave (all gothic faeries and steampunk I am to believe)

but the coming winter solstice should rectify that with another wonderful

get together of mooky individuals.

Another strange and re-emerging obsession is my winter wardrobe. A previous post

concentrated on the average Dartmoor based girl's leg and the seemingly impossible

task to find boots that agree with the dimensions of the calf....well, my calf.

It has taken several more trips to Exeter where we found the most incredible retro

shop that was packed to the ceiling with so many wonderful things that boot

purchase was immediately struck from the menu. "Oooo, a rack of PVC

goodies, gothic dresses, corsets, burlesque retro rockabilly.....aaarrggh my head's

going to implode" I shouted, actually my head didn't but purse did as the money

simply shot out of it and into the shop's cash register.

Yet another strange thing was the "what am I going to paint the next series of

paintings on" question that kept cropping up, right up to the point of me walking

into a shop that had a HUGE SAIL (they spelt it wrong) on art supplies.

There, at the back of the shop was a 'buy one canvas, get another free' deal. Well

what can I say to that, so then proceeded to pull all of the largest ones out of the rack

to check them for flaws and wonky stretchers. Unfortunately (and there is always

an 'unfortunately' when Amelia Vanstone goes shopping) one of the canvasses

clipped a rather impressive display of cook books that were stacked (a tad excessively

I should add) right next to me and set forth a series of events in the from

of a book based chain reaction. Ainsley Harriot head butted Jamie Oliver and in a

manner that the leaning tower of Pisa will eventually take, went crashing over

the rest of the art supplies. A stand of marker pens was the next victim

of the carnage as they ended up spinning across the shiny floor and under tables,

customer's feet and more book cases. One of the assistants suddenly materialised

and tried to stop the onslaught but accidentally caught another huge

pile of books with his arm, this went crashing over a stand of cards knocking

them all over the floor. Eventually, the chaos stopped and I stood there still

holding the perpetrator of the destruction, namely the inanimate canvas.

With a slightly embarrassed and cheesy grin, I feebly announced "I'll take these

two please" to the assistant who between huffing and puffing as he picked

various items up, was giving me an extremely hard stare.

The two canvasses are now safely back in my studio as I reflect on the very

strange month which passed before me. Next week I am going to make a point

of avoiding over-stuffed bookshops, over stuffed retro shops, over stuffed Costa

coffee shops (that deserves an entry all of it's own) and make it a mission, no,

a crusade, to restore order to my chakras in the form of lower legwear in

leather, where the zip actually goes up and down and I become a happy bunny

for the winter months without resorting to turning art supply vendors into

a place that resembles a Beirut war zone.

Return of the Giant Hogweed

"Well inspector!" said detective Cholmondley Warner "I am suspecting a blunt force

trauma to the head was probably the main reason for the Colonel's demise." Walking

carefully around the body, he went on "yes, yes I see it now...the victim had

obviously snagged his tie in the keys of the typewriter and evidently bashed his brains

in whilst trying to type the word 'help' with his nose!"

I must say that the previous month could certainly be labelled as odd. Autumn is not

here yet but it really does feel like it. The cool, dark evenings are adorable but

unfortunately cool dark evenings bring the menace that is....house arachnids.

Alan, the largest I have seen in quite a while, seems to put in an appearance at

strangely random times which usually results in him being ejected at some

considerable distance down the lane, yet....he returns.

I suspect that they have homing instincts and are building up an immunity to

conkers which always worked as a repellant but seem to failing in that department

for reasons unknown, Hospheria blames global warming but typically that is her

main reason for everything that becomes defective or broken.

Global warming and deadly plants.

I have also rediscovered my passion for giant hogweed. The very obvious eradication

programme for this deadly and enormous threat to the human race had fallen short

of success along the 'haunted road' and now, several years later ......it's back.

I was photographing the monster plants the other evening much to the surprise

of a passing people carrier full of wide eyed, staring people along the aforementioned

haunted byway, I came lumbering out of the dark with my camera hanging from

my neck only to be greeted by the approaching headlights. The driver made a

huge semi circular deviation around me, I imagine to prevent me from stealing

their souls or something. I smiled at the pasty white faces that were still staring

from the back window as the car sped into the night. I raised my camera and FOOSH,

stole there souls anyway in the form of a photograph.

Cholmondley Warner pushed his trilby to the back of his head with the barrel of his

revolver and frowned slightly. "Terrible business this, inspector" he said "to be a

successful writer in this day and age is not an easy thing, one either has it....or

they don't" he bent over the body and squinted "the Colonel obviously didn't

have the head for it"

Poised on the Void of a Never Ending Yesterday

"Pumpkin.......it's August!" well, that's how the conversation went, short but very much

to the point. The up and coming steampunk weddingfest of my two closest friends

required that I somehow manufactured this ten foot high, pumpkin headed scary

scarecrow that was clearly based on one of my illustrations for the Wiccan 

blessing within the district of Hound tor. "Oh goody" I said, closely followed by

"oh bloody hellfire" when I realized the very big ask. All this at a time where my

new studio just doesn't seem to get any closer to completion....and......let's just

say that I really need it, especially for ten foot pumpkin headed monsters.

As well as my failing to materialize studio, I have been working on the up and

coming 'angelvixen' and 'mystik pixie' website, that like my new studio....was well

overdue. "I just don't seem to be getting anywhere" I ranted at mca..."huh!" he

answered, well he was obviously under a considerably larger amount of stress

than me due to the fact that his duo core imac is no longer duo coring as a result

of his hard drive suffering from a slightly fatal dose of death.

I met up with the happy couple at Heltor rock a week ago for a very elaborate 

picnic. They climbed up the hard way while I sat on top looking like a very

windswept Bettie Page being attacked by wasps as I tried to take photos of

the surrounding land. We then ate our combined body weight in crackers and

garlic cheese before departing for Blackingstone rock and cake. I love the 'multi

locations for different courses' picnics. 

One thing that I have discovered recently is something that for me, is such a bad

idea. The horror that is....daytime drinking. I was at friends recently when we got to 

toasting something or other with sparkling wine, I guess it must have been a valid form

of celebration, unfortunately I forget exactly what. The toasting went on....more wine, 

more clinking glasses, I think at one point we were toasting each others cats, even more

 of a puzzle as I do not possess a cat. Finally, it was over and I had launched myself along

the lane in a very vague (but correct) direction of  the Vanstone family home, a walk

that may well have exceeded its regulation fifteen minutes by a good hour. The 

following morning certainly started with a question..."what the....." which was soon 

accompanied by the cry of "ohh my head" and then the statement....."never again!"

Today is the greatest
Day I ’ve ever kown
Can’t live for tomorrow
Tomorrow’s much too long
I burn my eyes out
Before I get out

-smashing pumpkins-

Well...there we go....I came up with some pumpkins........how smashing!

Stinging Nettles and Jam

"Go on Amelia, it will be fun"........ok.....let us just concentrate on that word.....FUN.

'Enjoyment, amusement or light hearted pleasure' it says in the dictionary, all of which

appeared perilously absent during my sojourn into the North Devon countryside.

My two best friends in the world had suggested that I joined them on this activity, the

activity that is (cue dramatic music) dum de dum dum........geocaching!

That is the name that is given to this particular pastime by those who enjoy it.....

or mooching about, seemingly lost in the great British countryside in the hunt for

small grubby boxes filled with an endless supply of tat, which would be the 

description applied by those who don't.

We had chosen the hottest day of the season which instantly put me in a grumpy

mood as I had to use factor fifty on my delicate complexion due to the fact that my

  parasol had gone on a journey of it's very own. 

After several hours of extreme 'fun', I became aware that it's practically impossible

to appear natural to the casual passer by when you are loitering in a suspicious 

manner by fences, trees and styles as it's not recommended that we drew any sort

of attention from the general public to the hidden treasure that we sought, well

that is the lawful requirement from the 'high gods of the cache'

This one occasion saw me standing on a small tree covered lane with my hand 

in a bush as I reached for the tupperware bounty that was hidden from view.

There was a house to the left of me that had a lot of children playing in the garden, 

and it wasn't long before they had suddenly noticed me. As I glanced over, there were

about five kids standing on the roadside driveway all pointing and whispering, and

moments later it appeared that the whole family had come to gawp at the goth girl

standing outside their house, elbow deep in a great british hedgerow.

The eldest of the group who I assumed was the dad as he was the tallest and 

beardiest, smiled and nodded his respects as he roughly ushered his still staring

kids back in the direction of the house. I did the same.......MISTAKE, my hair got

tangled in the hawthorn which made me yell out "aaaarrggghhh....hawthorn!"

and all of a sudden, the whole family were back on the road again, staring

and pointing. As before, they were rounded up like sheep and sent in the direction of

the house again. "Get me out" I cried, and it wasn't long before my friends had 

extracted me from the bushes.

JAM CARNAGE

After a long Sunday walk with Moomin, we were perilously late with our return

to the cream tea emporium which clearly stated that it closed its doors to the

general public at five o clock....it was eight minutes to. After asking nicely, it was

agreed by the cream tea ladies that we indeed had time. This particular place is

in an old church hall and boasts bone china, vases of flowers and starched

linen tablecloths. Tea, bread, butter, cakes and jam were brought to us as we sat

there alone in this huge hall at the only dressed table. Remembering the 

Houndtor tea incident with the purple mug, we agreed that best behavior would 

be observed at all times. I managed to pour both teas, with no drips...happy, then

I managed to cut the cake with no crumbs....very happy, then Moomin put jam

on her bread and butter......happiness over!  There was quite a loud 'donk' that came 

from her direction, I quickly looked up from my tea and noticed the wide eyed 

stare of horror coming from Moomin's face. I followed her gaze of terror back 

down to the table to the enormous spoon full......or rather the 'started off as a spoon

full' mound of blackcurrant jam that had now set up home on the extremely clean and

starched linen tablecloth. We both gazed at each other with open mouths and

I did what any well bred girl would do.....I put the vase of flowers over it.

So then......I think that we will leave the next visitation to this cream tea venue for a 

few weeks so the guardians of the cake and tea will have time to forget us...

although on second thoughts we do tend to get remembered....it's an appearance 

thing you see......and next weekend, well I have to admit it.....I shall be probably

up to my shoulders in hedgerow again.