so, here it is

On the front, this house has an eye-splitting display of yellow-white christmas arc lights and bobbing inflatable santas (illuminated).  But I prefer the quiet back, where this exact square of bluish artificial grass is laid.  An oasis, shop-bought plastic geometric calm in the midst of the hacked-about wild maythorns and raspberry, it has been a boon to the house-holder, recently, as they have been able to simply sweep the snow away and not bother about the irksome trouble of real roots dying.  Merry christmas, everyone.

Park View

Park View is the name of this house, and wrought iron lettering has been, at some time, commissioned to this effect.  The view of the park, though, is at the back, and it is up a steep, dark slope in to an ancient woodland incorporated by the council into a park.  But it has never been incorporated: far from any path, it's dark, brooding otherness and creaking and swishing presses lore-like on the back of this house, which has tried to fight back with its small, suburban naming ceremony.

Thru' The Garden Gate

A lot of planning & execution went in at one time to this driveway, to solve the problem of the side-access to the back garden.  It is an astonishingly daring solution the like of which I have never seen before.
There is an obvious drawback, in that while a car is parked on the precipitous spaces set aside for it's wheels, the access to the garden gate is totally blocked, or at least extremely inconvenient to anyone taller than a cat.
The current occupiers have gone round this by parking on the street rather than using it, although they have at least kept preserved this truly magnificent example of folk-suburban architecture.

Limey Paint

Sadly, my youngest daughter's habit of leaving the lids off the felt tips means that the colour in the picture does not do the joy I felt on seeing this paint colour any justice at all.
The original, however, is an acidy-lime colour, just the green side of yellow, and was popular, I recall, (along with mustard), edged with white, from the suburbs of my childhood - and that was the main reason I was drawn from nowhere to pause outside this house: the sensation brought on by it: my nan's store cupboard (the sun sloshing in electric Alpine limeade and the smell of ground white pepper in plastic tubs).  Hats are off to this householder, for traditional colour use is the stuff of the folk suburb, and this was no left over: the pots (new) were still in the half-opened garage.

Inverted Car Wheels & Chimney Pots

These two chimney pots I have spotted nearby, used as planters for nasturtiums and the like, are now emptied of their summer white'd stems.  These originally unmarket-sanctioned features would once have been the preserve of those with close contacts in the roofing world, but then garden centres began to purchase replica chimney pots from manufacturers, nullifying the folk element.  Therefore, the true folk suburb example of the found plant pot, to me, remains the inverted car wheel, (including the inside out tyre), often painted a dirty white.  Popular in the late-70s to early-80s, I think, I haven't seen one in many a while.
If anyone knows of one still in existence, I for one would be glad to hear of it.

Notes on Folk Suburb & Snow

Despite having been trapped on the services-less M77 for several hours, I would still like to make the following points on snow and the folk suburb:

1) Folk Suburb likes the snow as it rubs out the adult and conformity, even in the apparently minor details of erasing the contours of roof tiles and the division between pavement and car-road.
2) The other day I saw one of my daughters leaning on the table listening intently to the radio. This level of concentration being noteworthy, I asked her what she was doing: ''listening to the list of schools closed to see if ours is on it''.  This was a spontaneous act.  The listening to local radio as they read out alphabetically the list of closed schools is a true tradition of the folk-suburb, and one which I am glad is still observed.
3) I watched the snow falling thru' orange streetlights and remembered playing football in the street in the first darkness and someone going in for their Wembley Trophy orange ball.

cabin'd cribb'd confin'd

A slightly off message post in case anyone is interested in taking a look a the other 'folk suburb' site cabin'd cribb'd confin'd, which is the blog of the print 'zine of folk song & the suburb.  The first issue is nearly ready (stapler assuming) and there is a post about it there.