Spoke guide to rocking shorts this summer

Steer clear of denim and give socks the heave-ho: our chums over at Spoke share their wisdom for legwear that you'll pretty much be living in all summer, God willing...

1. Nail the Fit
   Loose shorts are great for the gym. Or for ‘Home Improvement’ activities. Otherwise, wear a pair that fit, or you’ll look like a slob. As a general guide, the shorts should be about as wide at the hem as the widest part of your thigh - and no wider. In other words, it should be difficult or impossible to pull the hem up to the top of your thigh.
    
2. Check the length
   The hem should fall somewhere between one and two inches above the knee. Higher than that and you start to enter 80’s footballer territory.
    
3. Roll the hem
   Most shorts are cut to one length, erring on the long side. As the looks above demonstrate, a rolled hem is totally acceptable way to adjust the length as required.
    
4. Lose the socks
   Generally speaking, socks and shorts should never be seen together. We struggle to think of exceptions. Slip-ons, espadrilles, loafers, boat shoes, flip-flops - there are lots of options in terms of sockless footwear. We love a pair of Quoddy’s. You don’t have to rule out trainers but it might be worth investing in some invisible socks.
    
5. Lighten the pockets
   Pockets should always be on the inside of the short, unless you work in construction (and you are at work). No exceptions. Overfilled pockets won’t do your fit any favours so try and keep things simple and stripped down - remove any unnecessary key rings and find yourself one of those milimaist, 21st century wallets. Perhaps one that doubles as a phone case. We love this, by Dodo.
    
6. No denim (ever)
   Look, we don’t want to be snobs, and we’re pretty sure Nick Wooster or David Beckham could carry it off if they wanted too. But why make life hard for yourself? Denim shorts make all the wrong references.

Ready to practise? Find our own Italian cotton shorts here, cut in italian milled cotton, and trimmed with Swiss hardware, currently available in navy, grey and a classic khaki. Next day delivery and returns are free in the UK.

Spoke make trousers and shorts that really fit, direct from the workshop. They search relentlessly for the very finest cotton fabrics, cut them in 150 different sizes, and sew them with craftsmanship and precision, here in the UK and Europe.

spoke-london.com

Our Instagram week with Miscellaneous Adventures

Last week we invited woodsman Andrew Groves of Miscellaneous Adventures to take over our Instagram and he treated us to a feast of bluebells, wood shavings and fondlesome spoons. We pulled him up for a quick chin-wag over a kuksa of something hot and potent.

Photo: Calum Creasey, stokedeversince.com

What's the story behind Miscellaneous Adventures, then?

Miscellaneous Adventures started off as an extension of my illustration work. My work has always been influenced by nature, adventure and folklore and I guess I wanted to do something that connected me more closely with those things. After hiking through the Swedish wilderness and discovering the beautiful folk objects in that part of the world I began to teach myself how to work with wood using traditional methods. Since launching my first collection of wooden objects several years ago, however, it’s developed into an outdoor brand selling wooden utensils, tools and artwork celebrating the great outdoors. We now also run workshops teaching the woodworking and outdoor skills I’ve learnt along the way to other creative, adventurous folk.

What's the allure of working with wood?

Working with wood requires a sensitive and considered approach; it forces you to slow down and study the material. It requires a certain amount of adaptability, too, as each piece of wood is different and you really have to work with natural shapes rather than fight against them. I enjoy that process. Working with unseasoned wood and harvesting the materials myself means I’ve had to learn more about trees, their growing cycles and the forest in general and this too is a big part of the draw.

Andrew Groves lives in a barn in a small Sussex woodland where he makes wooden tools by hand and teaches workshops in wood carving and other skills. You can follow him @Miscel_Adventures on Instagram
miscellaneousadventures.co.uk

Tales from the tool shed

From the haemorrhoid-healing Patron Saint of spades to the Anglo-French battle of who could make the best watering can, Bill Laws encourages you to ponder the trusty mud-caked tools piled up in the corner of your shed, and explore their fascinating, if not rather strange, history...

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Every tool has a tale to tell, it seems, none more so than the rather unremarkable looking gardening tools gathering dust in your shed. Author, gardener and busker Bill Laws has compiled 50 of these tales into one book RHS Tales From The Tool Shed and has given Ernest a peep at some of the good stuff.

The spade

Gertrude Jekyll (1843–1932) offered no-nonsense advice on the spade: “Watch a man digging: then take a spade . . . and do it.” 

During Northern Ireland’s troubles, digging was dangerous. The whisper “Watch out: he digs with the wrong foot" signalled the debate over which foot you used: the right (ostensibly a Protestant preference) or the left (supposedly favoured by Catholics). 

The spade’s patron saint is Saint Fiacre. Offered all the land he could dig in a day for a new monastery, he turned over nine acres at Saint-Fiacre-en-Brie, his digging eclipsed only by his reputation for curing haemorrhoids.

The hoe

The ground is dug, the seeds are sown: now the weeds begin to grow. 

The great outdoors man, Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), celebrated the hoe as he worked his bean patch beside Walden Pond in Massachusetts: “Daily the beans saw me come to their rescue armed with a hoe, and thin the ranks of their enemies, filling up the trenches with weedy dead.”

Whether you opt for a thrust or a draw hoe, (the first is pushed through the soil, the second drawn back), pay for quality and regularly run a sharpening stone along its leading edge. 

The secateurs

When the first beans come to fruition around June, the gardener hand picks her crop or employs that sensible 19th-century invention, secateurs. 

Count Bertrand de Molleville (1744–1818) escaped the guillotine during the French Revolution and fled to England where, in his spare time, he developed the secateurs. He designed them as an aid for the vigneron pruning the grape vines, but they soon made their mark in the garden.  

Today’s secateurs, essential for trimming roses or cutting hazel wands for peas sticks, range from Swiss-made Felco and Finnish-made Fiskars to Japanese Okatsune snips. 

The watering can 

The French and the English were separated by more than a stretch of water – the English Channel, or as the French say, La Manche – during Victorian times. They were also at odds over the best watering can. 

Matched against the Englishman’s stout, galvanized two-handled can was the French gardener’s arrosoir, its swan-neck so finely balanced that watering required only a light shift of the index finger. Former civil servant John Haws liked the balancing act of the French watering device and began manufacturing his own version at Clapton, London in the 1880s. It turned the watering can into a gardening icon.  

Bill Laws is the author of Tales From The Tool Shed: The History and Use of Fifty Garden Tools and Fifty Plants That Changed the Course of History. Since he started busking with his soprano sax three years ago, he’s been working on a history of street music.

billlaws.com

Fresh Fields Project

It's baffling to see the amount of rubbish left behind at festivals; most of it not even rubbish, but perfectly good tents and rubber wellies, discarded without a moment's thought. What to do with it all? Francli has the answer, with the Fresh Fields Project.  

One of the major blights about large festivals like Glastonbury is the amount of waste that's left behind. Tents, tent poles, wellies... these hardwearing materials are abandoned without a second thought, but creative and imaginative eyes see they have great potential for a longer, purposeful lifespan, rather than being chucked in landfill with a shrug and an "oh what a shame".

Franki Baseley and Alison Goodman from Falmouth-based Francli studio and interior product maker Felix McCormack saw this potential and collaborated to form the Fresh Fields Project, turning the festival jetsam into beautiful things of use. We grabbed Franki for a chin-wag...

What was the idea behind the Fresh Fields Project – why did the concept grab you? 

Resident Glastonbury artist and environmental activist Kurt Jackson decided to bring together a group of designers and makers, including Francli, and task them to use their skills to find a use for the waste materials left behind after big festivals. We had been looking for a durable, leather-like material to work with so were really excited at the idea of manipulating discarded wellies. It was challenging but so much fun to be allowed to experiment with the different salvaged fabrics. Together we created a line of security accessories for outdoor use (such as camping at a festival) made entirely from objects left behind at Glastonbury 2011.

What grabbed us was the chance to experiment and the opportunity to promote upcycling and ethical design attitudes. The end of festivals is the perfect analogy for how wasteful we can be; piles of unwanted objects and materials, not because they're unusable but because their owners can't be bothered to lug them back to the car after a heavy weekend. The Fresh Fields Project is all about highlighting this problem and offering a simple, lighthearted solution.

What do you find so satisfying about reusing materials? 

The best bit about reusing materials is not just the sustainable aspect but the spontaneity – how they direct the design process, forcing you to approach each project differently. For example, the Fresh Fields Project started with wellies and tents and it wasn't until we started to understand the characteristics of their materials and how they can be manipulated that we could begin planning what we could make from them. It's quite an organic process, one that sounds limiting but it opens up design opportunities that you wouldn't have otherwise discovered.

Tell us more about Francli – what's important to you?

We're inspired by rural craftspeople and makers; those who lead a creative, outdoor lifestyle. By sharing their experiences of design, craft and outdoor activity, we find solutions for contemporary work wear and accessories. 

We operate outside the realms of whimsical trends, focusing instead on function, quality and longevity to promote slow, sustainable and localised fashion. 

We like to connect with nature. We strongly believe that an active and productive outdoor lifestyle is creatively stimulating and is a value intrinsic to every element of what we do. We aim to work with environmental awareness and strive to be as sustainable and self-sufficient as possible. We are constantly searching for new and innovative ways to save energy and prevent waste.

We recognise the power of collaboration and the excitement and motivation that comes from creative discussion. Working directly with other professional crafts people helps cultivate innovation and quality within our work.

We value products that are made in Britain. Handmade and locally sourced products have become too rare. We champion traditional and contemporary craft skills and locally sourcing materials to do them. We also appreciate slow design, focusing on functional and durable clothing with a timeless, minimal aesthetic, rather than short-lived fashions and throwaway trends.

The Francli studio is made up of purely explorative, creative and collaborative projects fuelled by our fascination and respect for other creatives and outdoor enthusiasts. francli.co.uk

This is where I work: [vinegar & brown paper]

What's it like to not have to commute to work, to earn your bread and butter in a workshop at the back of your house? Andy Poplar of [vinegar & brown paper] tells us about his own little nook where he etches vintage glass, his typewriter that doesn't work and his Bakelite phone that never rings.

I’m eight years old and in my grandad’s sun-filled workshop. Rows of shelves with screws in tins, neatly labelled jars sat in lines. Tools hanging from hooks. Racks of salvaged wood. Saws piled on nails. Dismantled machines, dismantled furniture. Nothing thrown away, everything to hand. The smell of grease, wax, polish, paint, possibilities.

I’m 39 now and when I sit in my own studio I experience exactly the same sensations. Yes, I know how lucky I am. I’ve been working as [vinegar & brown paper] for nearly three years. Last December we moved to a bigger house that had a workshop to the rear and I’ve spent the last few months making it my own.

I’m well aware that the studio is really just the inside of my head poured into a room. Four walls filled with things I’ve picked up along the way, fuelled by obsessions that I can trace back to being a teenager. A place I can be who I am.

I have my favourite acquisitions; there’s usually a story attached. The inspection lamp that hangs from the ceiling is the the one my dad used to use when fixing his car. The no longer working espresso machine is the one I bought with the money I received for winning some New York advertising. (You can find metaphor in everything if you look hard enough). 

I spend my days working at a desk with a Remington typewriter and a 1940s Bakelite telephone on it. The phone will never ring, the ink on the typewriter ribbon has long faded out – but there they sit – one a stand for my iPhone, the other used for holding paper. New ways of looking at old things – it’s a theme in all my work I guess.

On a typical day, I start off doing some design work or going through my emails in the office, then come outside to the studio at around 10.30am. 6Music will provide a suitably eclectic soundtrack as I work through till 12.30pm. A quick lunch, then back to the studio until 4 when I’ll hurriedly tidy up the house before my wife and daughter return from school.  

In the evening I come back out and work for a couple more hours. This is my favourite time to be there. We live in the countryside so it’s deathly quiet and pitch black outside the studio window. And there I sit. Ryan Adams or Josh Ritter, Aimee Mann or Fionn Regan on rotation as I work into the night on orders. Sometimes, when I’ve finished all I need to do for the day, I just sit there and look and smile.

I know this probably can’t last and I don’t really know how it happened, but as I find myself sat in my studio on the verge of turning 40, I can’t help but feel that right now, I’m somehow winning.

There’s a quote from Chuck Palahniuk that goes: "The goal isn't to live forever, the goal is to create something that will." Which I guess sums things up for me at the moment. My biggest hope is that in a long, long time from now my daughter will pick up a piece of [vinegar & brown paper] etched glass and remember how it felt to be inside her dad’s studio when she was a kid.

Do you have an awesome workshop or office space? Do you work and craft from your shed, summer house, caravan, attic or garage? Get in touch. To see more drool-some and inspirational work spaces, buy issue 1 of Ernest, on sale now.