Today was hardgoing

So anyway, stupid arse-badger taxi driver at work blew his stack at me today in a rant of several minutes about my rudeness and lack of customer service bc I carried out (to the letter) his tea request - pouring in his own milk. BOOM! Out. Of . Nowhere. The irony of his accusation is not lost on me at all. As well as being a racist feck (EDF badge on his lapel) he works as little as possible all while bitching about the stupidity of customers, other cabbies and the world at large. 

This fuckwittery was offset throughout the day by several lovely older gentlemen telling me what exemplary customer service I gave and how lovely it was to be treated with a polite and friendly manner. I even had one customer ( famous UK actress)ring me from the train at 0630 to profusely thank me for getting her breakfast and tea made in (literally) four minutes so she could get to London on time.

When it is all hands to the pumps and there is a mahoosive queue out the door of our little cafe it is moments like these that keep me plugging away

Total Eclipse 2015

Today there is a solar eclipse visible from My Hilltop. We are in the 95% zone. It is just starting now and the sky is getting dark. I suppose. My Hilltop is covered with cloud. We have a full eight octas of cloud cover. Nothing is getting through.

*sigh*

Instead I am watching these guys - http://new.livestream.com/accounts/8724297/events/3807156/player?width=560&height=315&autoPlay=true&mute=false

Space geeks geeking out about the solar eclipse. Am loving it.

My Hero.

Today was the second last football (soccer) match of the season and we played 25 miles away from home. In the course of this season we have gone from unplaced to second in the division. A win today meant we would be going up into Division One. Our lads played strong from the start. They had fire in their bellies and kicked hard.

 

I am the shouty parent on the sideline I confess. I am especially shouty at the defence because that is where the Boychild plays and I get to holler all sorts of advice to him that probably runs contrary to what his coach has told him because I have absolutely no understanding of the rules. However as a shouty parent I am in the 'Good Guys' camp because I only shout out good and positive comments and I clap the opposition goals and good plays. But my voice is loud and I don't pause for breath very much (yes you all probably would hate to be on the sidelines with me).

 

We gave one of the lads a lift today. I have known this boy since he was 18 months old. He is ... ummm... a one off. He feels things deeply, is fiercely competitive and has very little fear. He is a whirling dervish powered by a Category Four cyclone. He plays like a really really angry terrier in full chase mode.

 

He had a rough first half as he bounced an own goal into the net but full credit to him he pulled it together, dashed away the tears no one was supposed to see and got his head back in the game. The opposition were a physical team. A big physical team. I disagree with the base defensive strategy of our coach and spent a lot of this afternoon's match shouting at our lads to push forward, be a bit more aggressive in their defence. It didn't work. Despite my (and lots of the other parents') vocal encouragement the result was 2-1. Truth be told we were swizzed because one of their goals was from a free kick that shouldn't have been awarded.

 

As we always do the Boychild and I had a post-match post-mortem on the way home. My cyclonic dervish friend joined in. He asked what I had thought when the other team were rude about me being the shouty parent. When I said I hadn't heard it he told me it was when he got pulled aside by the referee and told to adjust his attitude. I think the exact words were "Even if he commits the foul if you get up and punch him then it goes against you." Apparently the boy on the other team had been mouthing off at my vocal support for my Hilltop team and Sir Cyclone of Dervish came to my aid. As his Mum told me later 'He was funny-I quizzed him when I saw your lovely post on the Hilltop Team Facebook page and he explained that he'd never stand for "some stupid kid bad mouthing Trashy". He's your #1 fan!!! '

 

 

He might be only five foot four but my hero is a giant to me.

For Sue : Festival of Quilts, Birmingham 2014.

Dear Sue,

 

given the state of your head when they walked you off into the First Aid room at the NEC I figured there was a strong chance you wouldn't be back to attend the Festival this year so I thought if I wrote up what I saw it might give you some idea of the event.

 

Firstly may I ask after your husband? He was looking a little bit pale and wan as he helped you up from your tumble by the path. I can understand why; that hen's egg-sized lump above your eye was enormous and getting bigger by the minute. Couldn't be sure exactly how big because I hadn't yet purchased one of those 'Bloc Loc Rulers' which was on my list but it was definitely over an inch proud of your head.

 

You should know I think you were terribly brave, in fact all of us who could see just what had happened thought it. Once you were away from gawping NEC workers and the  bossy Aussie holding a tissue to the badly grazed duck, egg-sized lump over your eye, and safely ensconced inside the First Aid room I hope you let rip and flooded the room with tears. A little bit of wailing and teeth gnashing wouldn't have gone amiss either. And then again in the ambulance they better have called for you because chica, you *needed* to be pumped full of the strongest analgesics possible before getting that goose egg-sized lump x-rayed. Fingers crossed your orbital bone wasn't fractured and that the lump the size of an emu egg was merely really ace fake make-up. Anyway.

 

Once into the Festival of Quilts the first thing visible were (unsurprisingly) rows and rows of quilts on display. Plus the Quilting Guilds booths. Not being a quilting guild I ignored them because you know, not me. But oh Sue! The teeny weeny mini quilts people made were sooooo fabliss and stunning.

 

The pieces in this are so little Sue. You seemed to have 20/20 vision so you probably wouldn't have had to squint but I saw a few older women leaning in for a closer peer. Actually this was one of the bigger minis, there were some that must have been about six inches square. Don't tell anyone but I can imagine having a bash at a teeny one and possibly/maybe entering it at FoQ 2015. Let's make a deal Sue, you physically get yourself through the doors at the NEC next year and I will have a micro mini on display for you to look at.

 

 

This one was Maria's favourite. No, I wasn't surprised either.

 

 

I don't know about you Sue but every year on the way up to FoQ we say we must buy a programme and every year we are so excited to just get in there and see everything we don't. As a consequence we venture up and down the aisles and get lost and confused and spend too much money, double back on ourselves, see loads of stuff and miss even more.

 

These were some of the quilts that worked for me. There were loads of stunning quilts, technically fabulous quilts, funny (haha) quilts, funny (peculiar) quilts, some modern art quilts and a few I confess I looked at and just thought "Hmmm..." The ones in this collage aren't those. All of these spoke to me; I know, I know - a little bit 'Pseud's Corner' but they just did. All of them were extremely clever in their construction, quilting or use of colour and that London Modern Quilt Guild one is all of that. I think it was by Judi Kirk. I may be misremembering her name but she was one of the desk jockeys at the Modern Quilt Guilds section of that Quilt Guilds booth/office place right up the front.

 

The Spools was a feast of Liberty chosen by an expert eye and I couldn't help but smile as I went passed it. It feels as if it has been made with a lot of love. If you actually know who made it Sue please tell them how it gives me a little glow when I look at this picture, and if it was made with much swearing and crossness I don't have to know . I wish the lighting in the venue had been better because this photo does NOT do justice to the colours at all.

 

That skullington is creepily magnificent or you know, magnificently creepy. Clever, clever pattern designer and good work exhibiting sewist (if they are different people). The general consensus of people drifting past it was it was clever but they were feeling a little hypnotised looking at it. Given the headache you undoubtedly have it is probably a good idea you avoided actually looking at this one Sue.  The bottom right was a winner for me because of the colour choice being so totally in contrast to the traditional block.

 

And the Festival is a little bit about the shopping isn't it? I hope that all your spending money can be used in your Local Fabric Shop. Or you could always convert it to Paypal (which we all know is free money) and spend it online. If so I would thoroughly recommend Magee Donegal Tweed. Normally

tweed has a slightly rough edge right? No matter how flash the brand you always know it is going to smell of wet dog and wee if you get caught in the rain. Not that it is such an unpleasant smell, almost weirdly comforting but still not the parfum de choice for most. But this family firm has cracked it, delicious colours that had us fizzing around the stall touching everything we possibly could because it was all so soft. So incredibly soft. Like a tweed blanket created by weaving unicorn tails. As I said, delicious. Do you think I bought any Sue? No. Because I am a dumbass. I couldn't chose which one to go for and what to do with it if I could. Some might call it an intervention by my pennypinching, tightwad conscience. I call it Left Brain Bastardry; I think we can all agree FoQ is *not* about logical thinking.

Earlier in the week I had pulled out every piece of fabric my husband thinks I own and sorted it. There was a big mess in the kitchen I have to confess and as I cleared it all up and folded it into its new boxes I realised there is practically NO yellow. Searching through the shop stands I could see why. Most of it was manky. Wrong tones, babyish patterns, smelled funny, you know the sort of thing - just not right. And then we saw this stand - Fair Trade Fabric - as if I wasn't already sensorially blissed out from the tweedy people I then got to play with this cotton. Soft, beautiful drape, tonal like Oakshott but more delicate. I will definitely be shopping online with them Sue, maybe you could have a little look there to spend some of your 'free' pounds?

 

 

Given the size of the NEC it must be possible to actually spread the shopping streets out because there were *so* many people. Everyone jockeying to get past the knots of women oohing over fabric, stroking fabric, watching the demonstration of some gadget to do with fabric. I think that shopping hall was a bit like the internet; the feeling of anonymity in the shuffling mob lets people do things they would *never* do in real life. I was pushed in the back by so many white-haired old ladies with ENORMOUS bags to get me to move forward that at one point I turned and said "I cannot move. You are behind me, the lady in front of me is standing still and cannot move and is blocking my path to the side. What would you like me to do?" She kind of sniffed a little bit, glared at me then turned into the serpent her soul yearned to be and slithered off in the other direction.

 

 

Sue if you had been declared fit enough to be let loose they might well have suggested you use one of the NEC's mobility scooters. I *love* mobility scooters. They are a brilliant invention that has given so many people freedom to be a part of their community and in charge of their own lives. My mother has had cause to use one when travelling and my lovely neighbour in the front house would be housebound without hers. I really do think they are great but the scooters provided by the venue were HUGE. Proper off-roady type ones with a long wheel base and hubs big enough to ferry small children. Not ideal for the incredibly confined space of the shopping hall. Plus I don't think many of the riders had much experience. Just sayin'. Let's not mention those cuboid, hard plastic trollies being pulled behind people.

 

 

Have you been to the Festival before Sue? Just like last year we went off to the side hall to have lunch. There were tables and chairs to sit and relax before heading back into the fray of the main halls except this year there weren't. How ridiculous.

 

 

 So we sat on the floor beside a booth  and had our picnic;  this was less than ideal especially for those with a dodgey, arthritic knee. I know there were benches dotted about the place but it isn't the same. We only met briefly Sue but I am sure you would be impressed at my restraint when later I passed Mr Twisted Threads, the organiser of the whole event and did not collar him with my complaint. 

 

Our day was only halfway through but I imagine your eye is now completely swelled shut and your head must be pounding. I hope the ambulance arrived really quickly.

 

love love,

 

trash

 

 

 

Ten ace things that happened at Fat Quarterly Retreat 2014

1. I arrived without melting. My word but London was Hotty McHot Hotpants that weekend.

2. The goody bags had water bottles in them so we didn't require medical rehydration for the participants.

3. The goody bags. These were filled with the awesomeness - cool postcard, loads of fabric, amazing Aurifil thread, one of those ace mini-sewing kits you keep saying you don't need but still hunt for when emergency button reattachment is required en route to a job interview (is that just me??) and elastic (which always comes in handy when you spend any time with children). I'm guessing there was more but I lost focus after spotting the elastic.

4. Janome lending out FIVE BAZILLION sewing machines for FQR folk to use freely.

5. Meeting ace new people. Some of them I had been chatting with for aaages on Instagram and Flickr but had never actually shared air with, others met for the first time in any platform or reality.

6. Sleeping with two different women over two nights. Marg and Sonia were fabliss roommates for the weekend and didn't even complain very much when I had fifty twelve showers in three days. By the time FQR came about we had been without showerage at Trash Towers for TWO weeks! I was getting a might twitchy because if an occasional bath was a poor substitute for a shower then crappy little birdy bath washes were so far outside the pale as to be invisible. Can I just stress that hairwashing over the sink is a stupid idea and not be countenanced? As soon as polite the hotel shower was put to use and that baby got cranked all the way up to 11. Bliss and contentment.

7. Learning stuff like how to be an octopus when rolling fabric onto a lampshade, the thrill of knowing ALL the answers to the quiz before the questions are even asked and how to limbo around all the cables in the sewing rooms. All the cool things.

8. The Sample Swap working. Cannot even begin to express my relief that I managed to get everyone into a group and there was no repetition of the 2012 ZakkaFest, that everyone was happy with their swap groups and that the handmade crafty goodness being passed around left smiles on all the participants' faces. Let's not even mention that I had to spend half of one Saturday class rewriting the group list as the master one was sitting back on the desktop of my computer all the way back on My Hilltop.

9. My beloved concierge at the Grange Hermitage, Ruben. He was a helpful, calm, friendly, pleasant and hander-outerer of umbrellas when the rain came beating down first thing Saturday morning. the tip wasn't much but I hope the Tunnocks Teacake you received as well stood us in a good light.

10. Being named as an honorary Texan. Loving that so much, thanks Cristina, I shall take my Lone Star status seriously from here on out.

Fat Quarterly 2014

So, it has been ten days since Fat Quarterly and I have just about processed the 2014 retreat. Just about.

It was a whirlwind three days of happy faces, fabric fondling and skill learning. I met new friends, old friends and invisible, made-up, online friends.

During formal registration and check-in I was sent over to man the goody bags desk; this meant everyone was pleased to see me b/c Oh! MY! WORD! the content of those calico bags. And that I was partnered with half of the JackQuarterly team, Lynne's son Jack. All in he was a considerate and good boss who employed me on reasonable terms (but don't tell anyone - he snuck me one of the water bottles destined for the attendees).

 

With a formal welcome from the Fat Quarterly Team (Tacha, Lynne and Brioni) the event got under way and everyone got ready to head off to their first class.

 

Although not before somebody really dumb had headbutted those double doors up there with force and at speed. All was well though because nothing breaks the ice like a mahoosive collision followed by the biggest and best curtesy it is within the power of the headbutting idiot to manage. This was the bruise that took a few days to come out but was evidence of a claim for sympathy from those who stayed at home. It was unsuccessful. Unsympathetic bastards.

 

Once I was mobile again (it did hurt a little bit) I headed upstairs to Brioni's Petals class.

 

There is Brioni being all teachery and setting out the important stuff. What to cut, how many and the application of bondaweb. This is what it was supposed to look like, obviously the Hat of Happiness is an optional extra but you have to admit it does look good up on the Petal quilt.

 

 

Unfortunately I must have been focusing on something else when details were given bc my bondaweb was so bondy and webbish that I couldn't separate my petals from the backing. Even Brioni's clever life hack of scoring and flicking the backing was unsuccessful. But I now know the pattern and plan to one day finish at least one block. Fingers crossed by FQR 2015.

 

Dinner was a Waitrose picnic out on the terrace at Baden Powell House. There was lots of chat and laughter and a little bit of flying ice to cool down the drinks on such a  Hotty McHotpants evening (in the UK. I know!) before the Block Party kicked off.

 

The Block Party was a chance to get numbered groups together to create blocks and/or a quilt flimsy for a Siblings Together quilt. I was in Team Infinity (8s look way cooler on the side). Siblings Together is an ace charity that quilters around the world have taken to their hearts and sewing machines to benefit brothers and sisters separated in the care system. Lynne had a box of 'scraps' of Cotton and Steel and Jenni Baker's Vintage Summer. Scraps??? These were huge! So I ran away with them cackling, stroking them and whispering 'Precioussssss'. Not really (well kind of). I hawked the box around to all the other teams, being incredibly profligate with someone else's amazing fabric stash. This is the leftovers and because I was sooo bad at being a member of Team Infinity Lynne has graciously allowed me to take it home so I can make my own Siblings Together quilt.

 

First thing next morning was registration again and then straight into one of THE. BEST.CLASSES. IN THE WORLD. EVER!!!!!!!!!!

 

Armed only with instructions on how to screen-print Karen from Blueberry Park faced down 20 crazed sewist and then let them all loose with sharp pointy cutting sticks and waterproof paint. Not content with their own inspired ideas everyone went around swapping and trading images.

 

 

I sketched and cut out a pear, which I thought was not too shabby for a freehand and then I looked over at Jen who had drawn a flamingo freehand and then scaled it down so it would fit onto the frame. Freehand drew a flamingo. Twice! Gutted. However I have made stuff during this past week using the prints nicked from other talented participants so - Yay me!



 Post-lunch where I had a show down with a Baden Powell House dweller when he thought he would help himself to food - cheeky fecker (although retrospectively I have felt bad bc he was probably a starving travelling teenager), I went and had a class with the amazing Trudi Wood. Trood was a superstar and taught us loads about free motion quilting patterns and design.

 

 

Then off to lampshade making with Karen again. Great fun but my stars! You need fourteen hands to make it happen, thankfully Malmesbury Jen and Shen (Craft Giraffe) were available to assist. I dashed off to shout out the groups for the Sample Swap then back upstairs to be someone else's octopus on their lampshade run.

 

Saturday night was another Waitrose picnic followed by Market Square in the Main Hall. People were buying  all sorts of fabulousness and then it was time for the Siblings Together Quilts handover to Delma followed by Show and Tell of all the clever stuff people make. My favourite was the Vegetable Patch Quilt made by the uber-talented Nick at Quilts From The Attic. The dude has got it going on!

 

I managed a short chat with Thomas Knauer, really interesting to hear his viewpoint on modern stitchiness and making. He and Jen Kingwell are at opposite ends of the quilty spectrum. Technology vs hand-created.

 

With all the oohing and aahing out of the way it was quiz time. I'm still not sure how but I was dragooned into being Quizmaster. Team Butler were the eventual winners and we rounded out the night with random name drawing/prize giving.

 

Sunday morning saw Market Square comparison going on among room mates. In fact we were so excited to show that we didn't even get out of bed!

 

 

Yes that might mean some of us slept snuggled up with the new deliciousness in their lives but quite frankly can you blame me?? Look at it!

 

 

Sunday morning was an earlier start but I got there in time to fight my way through the scrum that surrounded the boxes of Oakshott fabric to be used in the Fractured Glass foundation piecing class.

 

 This was my colour way and just about all I managed to accomplish in this class. I *will* finish the block but I think Foundation Piecing and I are on the verge of reaching an uneasy détente.

 

Then it was time for farewells and much hugging and a few tears, at which point the fire alarm went off and obviously stopping to collect the treasures amassed over the weekend we trooped out into the street to do it all again - hugs, tears, promises to keep in touch/send that link/fabric/book and farewells.

 

 

Then it was off to just sit for a little bit. This pretty much sums up how I felt.

 

 

 Hey @

 

you were the bomb. Thanks for having me.

2024 - I'll be an old dinosaur by then.

10 years. That's a long time ahead isn't it? But then this is my eighth year of blogging and I would have sworn I had been doing it for longer so what do I know about the relativity of time??

Anyway 2024 is 10 years away,  3653 days, 87658 hours and far too many minutes and seconds to be arsed figuring out but it will be a lot. A really big lot. I will be older and probably grey-haired and who knows? I might actually have a crafty finish under my belt.

This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius.

Yes, yes, I am one of the hippiest of hippy groupings. I am a 'head in the clouds/feet on the ground' kind of chick, I love company but am a loner. I am a forward thinker without a care for what other people think. I go my own way and where I lead people will follow. Also according to the pictures I am pretty ace at tipping water out of a jar.

Hello my name is trash and I am an Aquarius. Aquarius. Aquariuuus. AAAAQUUUARIUUUS!!!!!

 

Early memories

My girl, my Princess CurlyWurly as was, is doing her first year of GCSEs this year. That means that she is half way through her teenagerdom and only has four term of formal schooling left. I know. Let's all just take a minute.

One of her electives is Psychology and they have been discussing memory. Apparently she is able to pinpoint her earliest memory to an exact date and time. She remembers the streetlights being very close to her head and hands as her Dada carried her around the corner to a friend's house at early-in-the-morning'o'clock while I stayed home birthing her little brother.

Mine in the other hand is sitting on the bench front seat of my parents' Kingswood station wagon playing with my best beloved teddy bear, Snowy. We were at Naringal School to celebrate its centenary, I guess I was 3 or 4.

I hope that her earliest memory engenders the same feeling of comfort and love that I get from mine.

Changing tracks - a song that reminds you of a time in your life

I am a singer. Not in a choir. Never going to see me on 'The Voice' or 'Briatin's Got Talent' but often and without even realising it I sing. Out loud. Frequently in public. Like walking around the supermarket picking groceries off the shelves. Or just because it is a beautiful day. I like the sounds of songs, the rise and fall notes make when they are pushed forward into the world, the comfort that comes from hearing a long known song. Each beat of music and syllable of lyric in the place it is supposed to be, just as it is on your own record at home.

I don't often play music in the house; mostly because I adore Radio Four and there is very little that will make me switch over from it but also because one of CK's favourite wind-ups pasttimes is to delve into Youtube and play every daggy song he can find. On repeat. There may be a little emotional scarring on my soul.

When the children were much smaller they (and by that I mean CK) recorded their favourite music videos. They were about 4 and 7. Like they even knew what their favourite videos were but that is the story there father has spun so we go with it. I know every frame and every pause in the music clips for 'Hit me Baby One More Time' by Britney Spears and more respectably 'Don't Speak' by No Doubt (or as it is called her the 'PashPash Song' bc the Boychild thought that was the chorus) and 'I Get Knocked Down' by Chumbawumba.

A few years back CK bought me 'Silk degrees' by Boz Scaggs as a surprise giftee and within a week I had the kids word perfect on 'Lido Shuffle' and we would play it with the volume turned all the way up to 11, the windows down, driving up and down our High Street after tennis on a Sunday morning. The kids not only roaring out the words but doing the 'bedoombly dume, bedoombly dume' key changes as well.

Sometimes I am such a proud mother.

A favourite movie. Just one?

Not sure it is possible to pick one favourite movie because I spent my teenage years in a darkened living room along with a half a dozen of my siblings or closest friends-I haven't-spoken-with-since-school-finished watching all the latest releases on video. Video! Latest releases that were only 12 months+ out from their cinema release.

We sat through hours of 1980s dross to catch the occasional pearl but we were beyond enamoured that we could sit on our own living room with the power to stop the movie. Or make it go backwards. Or zip it forwards. All at will and all through a little handheld gizmo that transmitted our every command to the video recorder through a thin and always cunningly camouflaged wire which snaked across the floor, successfully navigating the chip (crisp) packets, cordial (squash) glasses and plastic movie boxes littering its way.

If I had to pick a 'Desert Island ' list of movies my first pass would include (in no particular order) -
The Blues Brothers
Toy Story
Roman Holiday
Dirty Dancing
Some Like It Hot
The Usual Suspects
The Princess Bride
Eddie Murphy Raw
Richard Pryor Live

Yes it is true, I am a 'fluffy bunny' film kind of girl. I don't like gory horror films very much and I like psychological horror even less. I like films that make the world seem a little bit less grim for the time I am watching, whether that is because they are light and fluffy in and of themselves or because the story is so gripping all else gets forgotted (mentioning no names : The Ususal Suspects).

Factor in to this that it is an hour's drive to my nearest cinema and my inherent apathy means that I rarely see a film in its natural habitat. If it doesn't come to my house in some form I am unlikely to see it. This does not however preclude me from participating in conversations about new releases bc the ads trailing the new films include just about anything you need to know. That and my well-developed bullshitting ability have seen me through so far.

The lack of direction by their parents combined with this distance from civilsation means that neither the girlchild nor the boychild are particularly up to date on their film watching either ... although ... over the Easter holidays the boychild and I bought 'Thor: The Dark World' just because we could and quite frankly at £10 and the cost of a packet of Pringles I reckon I still came out miles ahead than if we had gone to the cinema. Then 'Frozen' came to my local Arts Centre cinema so the boy and I went to watch so we could find out what came after the line "Let it go, let it go..." Again money well spent bc of the travel costs, etc but also bc it was lovely to meet my godbaby there with his big sisters. They sat in front of us and I kept flicking bits of stuff at the back of Will's head to annoy him. Three days later the dvd found its way back to my house in my grocery shopping and all three of us spent one of the few sunny afternoons of the holidays sitting in the darkened room belting out the lyrics to 'Do you wanna build a snowman' and 'Let it go' with great enthusiasm. As I sat there I heard echoes of my teenage self living through one of those lost video-weekends.

One day. 100 words.

Inspired by Clare over in her craftroom I am attempting Clairey Hewitt's challenge for May. Blogging for a whole month? We'll see.

Plague recovery pushed too far yesterday so am snuggled on the sofa with a hot water puppy under blankets for today.

Writing guest blogposts, press releases and PR strategies while listening to BBC Radio Four. Might even do some sewing later when the painkillers kick in.

Am ignoring housework, ironing, continuing fecking rain and the half dozen WIPS I can see from where I am encamped. There is nothing wrong with Startitis is there. Really?

(Shamefully hangs head)

A project of great excitement.

I am involved in a really ace project and, inspired by Kirtsy at Kootooyoo I want get a community art quilt happening to be displayed next February.

There will be muslin squares, a theme and colour scheme.

Dates still to be finalised but I am really very excited about this project and would love you to take part.

So... we went to London yesterday.

A couple of months ago the lovely Miss Curly Pops mentioned how fabulous this exhibition would be and I agreed that it would be nice to go visit it. Then I realised it would be 'just on my doorstep'. And my daughter is doing Fashion Textile Design GCSE (Yrs 10 & 11 for you non -Brits) so it was too magical a combination to ignore.

 

We got the 0812 train up on Saturday along with everyone in a 50 mile radius of here. We were rammed in like sardines at our stop and there were eight more to go before we got to the Big Smoke. Turns out this was the last 'London for a tenner' weekends as well as our local football (soccer) team playing Queens Park Rangers up in London. So rammed in like sardines *and* enjoying the delicious scent of beer breath and sweaty bodies of the footy fans getting started on a big day out, all to the accompaniment of football chants and muchos swearing. That swearing bit didn't bother me so much as I have the vocabulary of a highly skilled sailor brought up by a verbally talented fishwife but My Girl's friend who came with us lives a fairly sheltered life.
 

 

So anyway, we got there eventually after a scrum rush halfway up when they made us change trains. In order to stop them getting crushed in the throng I pushed her and said mate into the full elevator saying "Just keep going and I will meet you on Platform Three." The look of terror and enormous concern on her face indicated she thought this was it and I would be swallowed up in the 'Great Platform Change Saga of 2014'. I wasn't, all was well and we got on the next train to complete our standing to London journey.

 

We negotiated the Underground reasonably well although I pulled friend G to the right quite sharply each time we went on an escalator because nothing hacks off a London local more than having clear access blocked by tourists who don't know the rules.

 

Museum located, bags deposited in the cloakroom (read 'cupboard of great chemical stinkiness') and we were in there.

 

This was my favourite of all the textiles on display. While it shouts 1950s it is also has a very modern feel ala Syko or Janet Clare. Or they have a very retro-style. Or you know, some mish-mash, mix-up blend of both.

 

This is a close-up which gives better example of actual colour.

 

At no point anywhere in the venue was there Goldilocks lighting. It was either too dark, too bright, too pink bc it was reflecting off the vividly pink walls or too orange bc of the orange walls. Fortunately getting in for close-ups enabled me to adjust for the overall hideous illumination job done by the Three Bears, although we can't blame the Baby Bear bc obvs he was just doing what his parents told him. Good Baby Bear.

 

While the exhibition spanned C20th the bulk of the work was from the 50s on which is right up my girl's alley. She was busy swooning away over the geometric patterns and (to my eye) harsh colours. I was busy earwigging on the conversations of the other gallery attendees. I listened with delight while two older women, probably in their 70s, pointed in recognition at several of the dresses on display because they had owned the exact same ones when new. "Oh" said one " if only I had kept all of those things from then." "But we didn't know," said the other "why would we?" I looked at these two women the world would classify as elderly and could see they still thought of themselves as young. Young enough to swirl out to tea dances in crisp, raspberry coloured dresses patterned with huge cream roses.

This one just made me smile even if the lions are little bit creepy. Although I have just realised that the lion in the cage all by himself is actually a tiger.

 

Bermondsey Street seems to be deep in the heart of funky South-East London and there were galleries and workshops by the score just on that little (not so little - really quite long - overshadowed by The Shard) street alone.

 

(This is not Bermondsey Street but that *is* The Shard.)

 

 The girls and I piled into a gallery with a David Hockney Exhibition. They stood looking at mobile phones. I prodded them a little so Friend G glanced around a bit. My girl ignored me. I got the feeling they thought is was all a bit  Emperor's New Clothes. They might be right.

 

I then forced them into the London Glassblowing Studio. My Girl refused initially bc "there is a silent auction going on and we can't stay quiet while we look around!!!" I told her to be brave and all would be well and marched in there. Eventually I took pity on her creased brow and explained what a silent auction is. We then asked the nice gallery man if we could take pictures of the work as the girls are both studying design.
 

 

 

 

Oh. Oh! OH! Look at this. How stunningly beautiful is the work in this bowl? I saw it as sunset on the sand at ebb- tides but My Girl can only see sand dunes and the ripples caused by wind. This bowl stood about 30 cm (12") tall and at least that in diameter and I loved it so very much. So much that I began to wonder what the cost of a teenager is on the open market. (Not enough apparently)

 

But then my eye was caught by the workshop in action at the back of the Gallery and all my woes became forgotten. The fella in this pic is a student but I could have watched the lesson for hours.

 

With a farewell wave to the beautiful blue sky over the sights of London we headed back to the train to my Hilltop. Fortunately this time we only had to stand half of the two hour trip home.

While she drives me bananas I reckon I am winning in the "Teenage Daughter" Stakes.

About 20 minutes after she left for school this morning I got a text from my teenager.

"Maman, what is that word that began with  'P' that was about languages and slang from the West Indies or something?"

"Patois."

"Thankoo muvver."

"Pronounced pa twa."

"Thank you lovely dictionary mummy :-P"

"It is a noun. Pl is patois, pronounced pa twaz."

"*facepalm* Now I know where I get it from!"

"You're welcome, now go and learn something."

Things my children probably should know. Part One

• Every woman has a different idea of handsome.
• How you say something is as important as your actual words.
• Never put yourself down, there are enough people in the world waiting to do that.
• Humorous self-deprecation has its place.
• Be self-ish. If you can't look after yourself, you can't look after others.
• It is not your job to fix things for everybody.
• Try it. Except drugs and orgies. Those you can pretty much guarantee don't live up to the hype.
• Put in the hard graft to reap the rewards but accept sometimes there are no rewards. If someone else swans in for the glory moment, kick them in the shin. Hard.
• Be able to communicate in a foreign language even if you do it badly. Una bierre grazie/un biere/s'il vous plait/ein bier bitte/una cerveza per favour will get you friends in many countries.
• Keep learning always. There is something new to be experienced every day, even if it is just a sunrise or sunset.
• Stand tall.
• Take up space.
• Don't let someone tell you you can't because of who or what you are if you think you can.
• Every man has a different idea of beautiful.
• Be enough for yourself.
• Develop a sense of your own style. Allow yourself to adapt it as you age.
• Stand up to the bullies; sometimes they live in your own head.
• Listen to people.
• Don't carry a gun unless you are authorised by a government agency. Same goes for a knife bigger than a Swiss Army blade.

Sometimes it really is that simple (21 years in and the romance remains).

Are you gifted with a partner who is good with words? Does your man or woman always manage to say just the right thing at the right time to soothe your soul, to calm your nerves or to make you laugh so much your anger drains away? It is likely you are one of a very select group and you should try and take a minute to appreciate how special your beloved is.

CK and I have been together for 21 years now. That is a long time. I am not sure quite when I became old enough to have been in a relationship that long; probably about the same time I became old enough to have a 15 year old daughter. 21 years. And half the time I still have no clue what goes on behind his eyes because he is a reserved Englishman, an introvert. Three things that together make him almost unreadable to anyone but Mr Holmes. But every so often he surprises me.

I have been Springcleaning here this week in the hope that it will assuage the Gods and they will stop with the rain and raise the sky height just a little bit. My bedroom has been completely emptied and is slowly being put back together; CK being away for the week with work meant I could do it in peace and, if come bedtime, last night I had to shovel a path betwixt door and bed and fall asleep under a carapace of sleeping bag and 300 quilts there was no dissenting voice or rolled eyes to stop me. Yesterday as I pulled the contents from every cupboard and dragged out the Universe of shoes, books, hair elastics and craft materials that was under my bed I found a letter. My husband had written me a love letter.

Oh *sigh*.

It is written on a simple piece of white A4 in blue biro. It is folded in ways that are only just short of crushed. Looking at the back I think it might even have muddy pawprints around one edge but never has there been a more beautifully crafted, more elegantly created expression of love. I don't know why it was under my bed, I cannot quite figure out why it is not pressed between the pages of beloved book to be taken out and read on special occasions but I do know that never has any woman been as deeply loved as I am fortunate to be.

" Some nights I just want to shout 'I love you' but nothing

comes out except "How was your day?"

"How was your day?" is what I say. "

Mega- Hedgesnogs of the Internet OR How i love a challenge...

 

So the other week the everso talented and clever Julie over at Little Cotton Rabbits wrote a post all about her knitted hedgesnogs.  How different yarn thickness and needle sizes change the size of the finished hedgesnog. She mentioned how it would be rather fabulous to make one big enough to be a footstool or pouffe. I happen to have 25mm needles. The game was on.

 

I swooped into the crafty jumble sale that took place last weekend and cleaned them out of brown and cream yarn

 

It was proper jumble where the local old Grannies had turned out their craft cupboards, finding years of hidden goodness. Some of it not even 100% acrylic!

 

So I set to with my thread of uber-yarniness and little by little,

 

day by day I slowly growed a hedgesnog.

 

 

It got bigger and bigger

 

 

and it growed so much this week that I even got to change colour and begin the decreases in the face section.

 Until just after 10:30 tonight I wrestled the final stitch off the needle and can proudly say -

I have made a mega-LittleCottonRabbits Hedgesnog.

 

 

Watch this space, I have hopes of actually figuring out how to get it sewn up very soon...

Thank you all.

 

Thank you all for your kind words.

 

Thinking about it over the weekend I came to the conclusion that while it was a hard thing to do it was actually not a hard decision to make. He was ready to go and it was beholden on me to see that he could with as much grace and ease as possible.

 This morning my lovely friend Missus Moog and the Mooglings came up onto my Hilltop for lunch and a mahoosive dogwalk. Well it was mahoosive for My Assistant's little legs and my recovering lungs. Among everything else that went down last week I had a chest infection and was sent home from work on Friday so My Assistant and I just sat together on the couch in the kitchen feeling sad and a little bit lost.

Being the fabulous friend that she is Missus Moog arrived bearing armloads of fabulousness; a bottle of her delicious rosehip syrup to soothe my horrid cough and this - a stunning project zip bag she made complete with some of that clever, tricksy free-motion picture making stuff all the clever people do.

Can you recognise it?

 

 

It is a picture of my ReggieSneggie Black Dog standing on his wall.

 

See?

Vale Big Black Dog, Vale

 

If you get a minute today spare a thought for my lovely old man black dog, Reg. In about an hour I am taking him on his last trip to the dammit, blasted stinking horrible bastard bloody vet (obviously I paraphrase his immediate and blatant reactions everytime we go there).

 

 

Yesterday morning he went to stand up and couldn't, his left back leg just couldn't bear any weight and he kept falling flat back down onto the wood. His ability seesawed throughout the day but he obviously was seeking comfort because while I was in the shower and he couldn't find me he took himself upstairs to his sheepskin beside my bed. I cannot imagine how but as the vet said recently - "He is like two dogs pushed together" - so those crazily strong, 16 yo forelegs really did their job. I am pleased and grateful he spent the day in a place he has loved best since he stopped being able to crawl under our bed or get in behind the sofa. I have never known a big dog to have such a small turning circle. Yesterday afternoon, even  with his limpy, wobbly back end, he managed to turn himself around in his cupboard so he could watch the world out the kitchen window.

 

 

From weird-looking, little rat-tailed puppy with a 30 second gap between input and output when eating to the elegant, model-like middle years when he was all flowing mane & tail and beauty incarnate to the noble old man dog he has become in these last few years we have been lucky to have him share his life with us. Otherwise who else would have kept the postman, next door's dogs and those fecking pigeons at bay all these years?

 

 

 

 

 

Vale my beautiful old man, may the pigeons be slow on the other side.