“The Little Log Cabin” e-shops


My ordered business cards look something like this (above). I worked through the night trying to get it ‘right’ and my poor eyes are burning today!

I’ve set up two e-shopswww.folksy.com/shops/TheLittleLogCabin and www.amazon.co.uk/handmade/TheLittleLogCabin

The shops aren’t looking too pretty at the moment because I haven’t got round to that yet! When you’re on your own trying to sell something you’re having to ‘wear all kinds of hats’, doing it all yourself. I’m lucky if I get the odd cup of coffee or tea from John, lol.

You can always order direct from me, too – please express your interest in the comments below, or, email me at the email address above.

Crafting is a kind of therapy for me – I live with chronic pain and cannot work a normal job, anymore – and the little extra money will come in useful for the Christmas period.

I’m thinking of making Jack Russells too… (Chester agrees).

Thanks for dropping by!

Faith xox

You can see my first Christmas Chihuahua ornament *here*





Copyright Faith McCord 2016

Story and artwork belongs to Faith McCord who is the author and artist holding the copyright. This is not a public domain work. Worldwide rights.

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Christmas Chihuahuas – The Little Log Cabin





I’ve some good news!

I’ve been approved by Amazon to sell my handmade ornaments. So far, I’m making Christmas Chihuahuas to stand and also ones to hang from the Christmas tree.

They’re very small, the base is 5 or 6 cms wide; with Christmas tree 6 cms tall; the tiny chi 4 cms tall. All sizes approximate.

Each one is unique. Made without molds, hand painted clay and wooden shapes with acrylics, sealed with gloss. With varying colours and embellishments. And, a fine sprinkle of mica glitters! The standing ones have a protective layer of felt to their bases.

They will be safely packed in strong cardboard boxes with internal packing as they are delicate. Each one arrives with its own organza bag and artist card. So, they make great gifts.

I don’t know if I can also sell them on Amazon / North America… But, I will also be selling them direct – just message me in the comments – and, via Folksy, the British based handmade web site. I’m on Amazon Europe.

Each one is £20 plus postage and packing.

I’m open to requests for certain colours.

Faith, “The Little Log Cabin”





1. Royal Mail International Economy; 42 days;  Up to £20 for loss or damage; Not Tracked; £5.40*
2. Royal Mail International Standard; 5 to 7 working days;  Up to £20 for loss or damage; Not Tracked; £7.80*
3. Royal Mail International Tracked & Signed; 5 to 7 working days;  Up to £50 for loss or damage; Delivery Confirmation; £12.45*




Copyright Faith McCord 2016

Story and artwork belongs to Faith McCord who is the author and artist holding the copyright. This is not a public domain work. Worldwide rights.

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Maxi says Don’t Forget!


I’m thinking of dressing up the pups this Halloween. Beatrix as a bat; Oscar as a ghost; Chester as a witch; CoCo as a witch’es cat (I’m not sure she’d agree!); Twiglet as a pumpkin (he’s already orange); CreamScone as a pumpkin or a bonbon; and, Maxi as the Hulk (he’s a big Chihuahua). John can go as the Sasquatch monster because he’s fluffy and got big feet – he’s also from the White North. (Actually, I’m thinking, if you Canadians haven’t see the Sasquatch recently, I could really be harbouring him). If my mum is in a bad mood, she can dress up as a witch. And, me? Any suggestions???😮




Copyright Faith McCord 2016

Story and artwork belongs to Faith McCord who is the author and artist holding the copyright. This is not a public domain work. Worldwide rights.

Posted in life | Tagged , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Red Shoes (short story) #2


Dear reader, I had said I’d publish this short story in ONE GO, but it ran away with me, growing into a longish short story – too long for one sitting! So, I’m breaking it up into 3 or 4 parts, to be published every Sunday (the usual day when I posted The Hotel Unicus series). I’ll be rating it 16+ due to the mature themes, but as is my way there is more mystery in the absence of gory details, which terrify me. Horror/mystery/pretanatural. I hope you like it.

Have you missed Part One?

Part 1

Just to re-cap…..

I thought of my shoes on the bench. Just who had left them there? And, why?

“Could my shoes really be hers?” I asked Lilly.

“They might have been, but for one thing.”


“My client’s feet are tiny.”

~ Part Two ~



A few days later, when I was walking tall with my elephant feet, feeling quite wonderful, I bumped into a woman who was staring at my shoes.

I didn’t apologise like I usually did, even though this time it wasn’t exactly my fault: the perpetrator had walked into my path. Nor, for that matter, did she say a thing.

And, then, she didn’t let me pass. She stood in my way, all five feet of her, whilst I stared in disbelief over her head.

“Where did you get those?” She said fiercely. Although her words were nicely spoken, her actions weren’t befitting of a lady.

Of course, I was incensed at this rude abrupt behaviour. I wanted on my way! “None of your business.” I snarled at her.

The people in the pedestrian zone of the city, clotted about, started to stop and stare at us.

I made a side-step but she followed suit and blocked my way again.

I looked her over. This woman with her exotic dark looks, burning hateful eyes and dishevelled frizzy hair and appearance; the blouse buttoned up the wrong way, the stark creases in her skirt, the ladder in her stockings and the scuffed heels.

I didn’t know her! I had never met her before.

“Get out of my way, you skinny bitch!” I said. I think the Red Shoes made me use coarse language – it certainly felt that way.

“I want my shoes back!”

“Look, there’s going to be a catfight.” Someone said.

But there wasn’t because in the next instance we were taken to the police station for disturbing the peace.


I noted the small room I was in. Windowless, a toilet and a sink in one corner and a hard thin ‘bed’ in the other. The light was unnecessarily bright and it stunk of disinfectant with base notes of vomit. I felt a bad headache coming on.

Soon, I found out that we were in next-door cells to each other when I heard her wheedle through the thin wall that separated us.

“I just want my shoes ba-a-a-a-a-ck. Pl-e-e-e-a-ze.”

I tried to ignore her at first, but she got to me. “Shuddup!” I told her. “You’re not getting my shoes.”

The fluorescent light flickered, then completely went out.

I swear on Gran’s – no, my cat’s grave – that the shoes glowed red in the dark. I was still staring at them when the lights came back on and everyone cheered.

I tried kicking them off but my feet must have become too swollen and they wouldn’t budge a millimetre. With an exasperated sigh – full of the woes of my wonderful day being ruined – I sat against the hard wall, on the hard bed. The coldness of the cement wall seeped into my body. She was still wheedling through the wall for the shoes which by now felt very uncomfortable and hot, despite them having become a part of me.


When the police finally let me out an hour later – and after the verbal bashing – to my surprise, Lilly was waiting for me outside.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked, leaning against the wall next to the door.

“Your mum called me. Said that your gran saw you being arrested outside Just One Quid!

“Really? What was Gran doing there?”

Lilly shrugged her shoulders, mystified.

“Probably buying bread.” I said to myself. Gran loved her sandwiches. Egg mayonnaise, ham and mustard, beef paste and sweet pickle (I know, strange)…

We went to sit on a low brick wall in front of the station and the parked police cars. Managing to catch the last rays of the evening sun. Being next to the road, now and then a car or a bus drove passed. I quickly told her what had happened.

My best friend looked aghast. “What’s got into you, Fran? You’re acting deranged. I don’t know who you are anymore…”

She was right: I had not only behaved badly but also unusually for me. I wasn’t me anymore. And, it had something to do with the shoes.

My feet felt much hotter than earlier. Kicking the shoes off didn’t work. They seemed glued on for good.

“Your feet! They look very swollen.”

“I know, I can’t get them off.”

Just then, the door to the police station swung open so fast and wide it smacked into the wall before rebounding and almost knocking out the small woman who had opened it. Someone shouted at her from within.

Lilly’s mouth was agape and her glasses slid completely down her nose.

“Don’t look! Don’t look!” She whispered to me, shielding her face with a hand and looking away.

Hiding wasn’t easy to do being only 10 yards away. I didn’t help matters by staring. It was the skinny bitch who was obsessed with my red shoes.

“You know her? How can you know her?” I said in bewildered hushed tones.

“It’s that working-girl client I told you about – but she looks a mess. I didn’t recognise her at first. SShhh, she’s looking our way.”

Ahh. The high-class call girl with the tiny feet. That didn’t make sense.

It didn’t make sense at all.


“You think they’re yours!” She snarled and spat bad breath, her blazing eyes directed at my shoes. “But they were mine. Are still mine.”

“Mrs Briggs, might I remind you that the police station is only just there?” Lilly said.

“I never stole them! I found them!” She stood there with hands on both hips. The badly creased skirt sticking out at awkward angles. Barely giving her former accountant a glance.

“Where did you find them?” I had to ask.

Mrs Briggs nervously licked her lips and looked sideways. “Finders keepers. Losers weepers.”

“Where did you find the shoes?” Lilly asked.

She sat on the wall beside Lilly, but not too close. As if she was afraid of being physically attacked. Ever so quietly she told us her story:

“I was finishing with my meeting at the Star Hotel, coming down in the lift to the lobby when I noticed what looked like a homeless woman leaving something on one of the chairs. She had short blonde hair and wore a purple trench coat. I would have said something to her, but she left so quickly. It was a plastic supermarket bag. I looked at the man at the reception desk but he was busy talking to a hotel guest.

“‘Curiosity killed the cat!’ my husband used to say.

“Anyway, I didn’t have another meeting that night, so didn’t have to rush off somewhere…so, I went to have a look. Obviously, you already know what was in that bag.

“I couldn’t believe my luck when I found out that they fit me.”

“My shoes wouldn’t fit you.” I pointed out, pointing one of my Red Shoe clad feet at her.

There was a pause in which her gaze became focused on the shoe.

“That’s a strange thing.” Mrs Briggs said finally. And, then, she just walked away without another word or gesture.

It was as if the very truth had released her.


I’d never been to, or inside, the Star Hotel before, although I had a vague idea where it was. Lilly told me she sometimes meets clients in the restaurant or the business rooms for hire. Apparently, a lot of serious business types frequent there. It was the slimmest of chances that I would find the blonde woman in the purple trench coat. What if she was just passing through? A scruffy hotel guest or anyone? Just because she looked unkempt  – as did Mrs Briggs, who, Lilly explained, used to be elegantly turned out in a previous life – it didn’t mean she was living it rough on the streets.

So, who was she? What was her story connected to the Red Shoes?

The hotel was quite pretty in an exotic way, as well as clean, and smelling nice from the beeswax and the pots of gardenias dotted about. The sea of royal-blue carpet, I followed into the lobby, trickled through the downstairs corridors and gushed into the restaurant and bar areas, where it met the numerous, elegant dark legs of the tables and chairs. The downstairs walls were painted happy colours: a sunflower-yellow with motifs of stencilled gold hummingbirds and passionflowers; a lush emerald-green with velvet flocking of twisty Swiss cheese plant leaves and vines; a summery melon-red with a scene, outlined, hand painted in black, of pineapples and cocktails being sipped by cosmopolitan people; and, a serene pale-blue reminiscent of the sky because of its airbrushed mottled white clouds. Furthermore: the doors, walls, ceilings and floors had Art Nouveau imitation fittings and accents in gold metals; the furniture, like the tables and chairs, again, in dark woods, though in simpler shapes and lines; and, the windows were dressed up, in draped and knotted billowy satin of varying jewel-colours. I sat in the lobby, with a view of the reception desk, the main entrance – and if I swivelled my head, just so – also of the archway leading into the restaurant and bar. I occasionally walked about, getting to know people, even the staff. However, most times, I drank coffee after coffee after coffee. Walking was becoming increasingly difficult.

On the tenth consecutive day of my detective work, Fatima, a twenty-something Moroccan who grew up in France from the age of six, and whose job entails shift-work on reception, said to me: “That burning kind of obsessional love never lasts.”


“Fran, I see the haunted yet passionate look in your eyes. I notice you spend many hours here, searching…Searching for someone.”

I was taken aback. “Really? You see all those things about me?”

She nodded.

I wondered if she had a complicated love-life.

“You’re right…”

Her face lit up.

“And, not right.” I watched her face pull in a confused frown. “It isn’t a man – or a woman – it’s shoes. But, I am searching for someone.” I went on to tell her about the story of the Red Shoes so far, including the chapter concerning Mrs Briggs, and the chapter before that, about the mystery blonde in the purple trench coat – of whom I was searching for.

Brian from the bar caught most of my story when he walked in on it, on his lunch break at two. “You spin a magical yarn! Too much Dorothy and Wizard of Oz, if you ask me!”

“Brian, we weren’t asking you.” Fatima told him, flashing him a ‘look’.

The young barman looked sheepish because he had a thing for her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend anyone.” He glanced over his shoulder before turning to me. “You don’t have anything to do with that graffiti do you?”

Over the past couple of weeks since the shoes had come into – well, overtaken – my life, I was learning its idiosyncrasies. It was as if it – or they – had feelings; ears and eyes that listened in, looked on. Whenever it found anything or anyone dis-pleasurable the shoes burned. When it wanted to make me listen to it, the shoes constricted themselves tighter around my feet – like a python throttling the life out of someone, except it was restricted to my feet. But, of course, the implications went further than that – the Red Shoes were, in effect, constricting my entire life.

I felt my feet burning. “What?”

“The weird graffiti in the loo. OK, OK, don’t kill me!”

I tried toning down my irritation. “What are you talking about?”

Brian looked over both shoulders. “Come on…what was your name, again?”


“Come on, Fran, you might be very interested in this.”

“Take me a photo!” Fatima called after us.



…………to be continued!

animated-horror-ghost-33 Did you enjoy this story?

If so, I’d love to hear from you! gif_tongue_teeth_shoes


Words: 2,003

Inspired by: My own red Italian shoes (in another life when my life was more high heels than wheels).


The Red Shoes by Hans Christian Andersen

The Red Shoes, the film, 1948

Animated gifs from giphy.com and gifandgif.eu




Copyright Faith McCord 2016

Story and artwork belongs to Faith McCord who is the author and artist holding the copyright. This is not a public domain work. Worldwide rights.

Posted in short story, Short Story Series | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Autumn Owls






Wishing you a lovely weekend. xox

Autumn Owls made by me. First as a lino-cut and then as a coloured graphic.




Copyright Faith McCord 2016

Story and artwork belongs to Faith McCord who is the author and artist holding the copyright. This is not a public domain work. Worldwide rights.

Posted in Art | Tagged , , , , , , | 20 Comments

#WhyWomenDontReport (ReBlog)

The following is sad, but true. I hope we can change certain aspects of our world to make it a safer and better place. I’m re-blogging this as it’s a taboo that must be addressed… Not my usual kind of blogging post, but it’s too important to dismiss.

Pioneering The Simple Life

Because I was 15, spending a summer abroad to learn French, and I didn’t know who to talk to when you’d come to my bedside and grope me in the night. #WhyWomenDontReport

Like so many women, I don’t have adequate words to share in the spaces between these highlighted occurrences. They’re just a few among others buried in my subconscious, ingrained in the tactile memory of my cells every time someone touches me, even in moments of tenderness.

Because I was one of your guests, and I thought we were all enjoying a night swim in the Mediterranean. Yet the darkness hid your assault in broad moonlight. #WhyWomenDontReport

I’d posit that women are robbed of their own pleasure, for years, when their bodies become the unwitting object of another’s unwanted, yet continued, advances.

Because my  job was to film you, but you’d kiss me on the mouth every morning and “slept” for hours in the car with your head in…

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Oscar tries new biscuits (Oscar Review)


I wanted to review these natural dog biscuits for small dogs, although we weren’t endorsed to by the company, and so am sharing the photos here. I think Oscar finds the Happy Dog Natur, Lamb + Rice, Snacks too hard but the other dogs happily crunch them down. They’re made of natural ingredients, without soya, artificial colourings and preservatives. They are for small dogs as the biscuits, which double as a natural teeth-cleaner, are only 3.5 cm or over an inch long. It’s a pity that since where we bought them there has been a drastic price increase, because we would have bought them again at the lower, sensible price. OK, back to the cheaper gravy bones! 5/5 stars.

Oscar Dandelion and I were not endorsed by the company to promote these.


www.HappyDog.de (English)




Copyright Faith McCord 2016

Story and artwork belongs to Faith McCord who is the author and artist holding the copyright. This is not a public domain work. Worldwide rights.

Posted in life | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments