the grand unveiling

I know it’s no excuse but I’ve been up to my neck in GCSE marking over the last few weeks and descriptive essays on bus, car, train and plane journeys have been floating around, clouding my poor little brain and leaving not a lot of time for anything else.  Before the exam madness began though, I got the chance to go to my mum’s, bundle in hand, and finish this,

That’s a year’s worth of hand stitching and two day’s of sitting in the back garden getting a trucker’s tan and very sore fingers you can see right there. 

The quilt 99% hand stitched.  We got lazy when it came to attaching the patchwork to the batting and the backing.  I got even lazier and let my mum do the machine sewing whilst I ’steadied’ the rest of the quilt as she rammed the edges through the sewing machine.

We always been a pretty arts and crafts family.  My gran was a dress-making teacher at her local college and my mum always made our clothes for us when we were younger.  From a very early age we were steered away from TV and given more creative things to do with our time and that’s one of the reasons why I’m willing to try pretty much anything when it comes to arty things.  Generally it doesn’t even phase me if something goes wrong, it’s always been the creating that’s been the most important part of the process.

And this quilt way great for getting to know my mum even better.  We spent the whole two days we were doing this talking and just being with each other, something we don’t get to do that often.  She’s a much more methodical crafter that I am, she knows about laying the groundwork and prepping your fabric and that’s why the quilt has turned out so perfectly.  Had I been on my own I would have ended up with something fit for the dog’s basket and I don’t even have a dog.

The back of the quilt is covered in tiny buttons at regular intervals.  I am sure that this has a proper name and there’s a proper way to do it but essentially all I did was sit with it on my lap and sew through were it felt right. 

I said when I found this quilt that it was going to be so full of stories it’ll overflow and we’ve certainly sewn quite a few in there already.  Now I’m starting to have slightly grow-up thoughts about the children I’ll one day pass it on to.  And if anyone in North Yorkshire knows someone who started a quilt twenty years ago and sold the beginings for £2 at a car boot sale last year, let her know it’s finished now will you? x

big smoke

Wow, so that’s what a month without blogging feels like…  Apologies for the long absence, there’s no real reason for it.  I do have plenty of crafty things to update you on, including the quilt which has taken up a disproportionate amount of my time lately and the most fantastic present I’ve recieved from a fellow blogger (Laura, that’s you!).

But for now, some pictures from our Easter trip to London.  When we were kids we used to go and visit my aunt and uncle in London every summer.  It was always hot and dirty and noisy and exciting.

Every time we’d see a show (this could be the reason for my hatred and my sister’s love of musicals…) and use our Blue Peter badges to get into various attractions for free.  My uncle would take us to this little Italian cafe in the evening where we’d drink cappuccinos and watch the car lights flash in the night through the steamy windows.  This is one of my most enduring memories of London, the damp warmth of the coffee machines and the clatter of cups and plates, the London accent mingled with Italian in the background and a big, hot cup of milky froth, covered in cocoa powder.

The thing about London is, when you’re ten and someone’s leading you around and telling you where to go, it’s great.  When you’re 29 and you get off the train not knowing quite where your hotel is it takes a couple of bottles of Corona before you feel anywhere near that happy.

We went to a lot of museums, god bless Tony Blair and his dropping of visitor charges to public museums.  I fear this is the only thing he’ll ever be remembered fondly for.  And we met my brother and his wife for lunch, watching the Eurostar come and go at Euston Station.  But the whole time I was there I was waiting for someone to take me by the hand and offer to take me to a puppet show in Little Italy.  Just hold my hand and I’ll show you the way… x

sunday stroll

A five mile walk on Easter Sunday.  Just us,

some sheep,

a brook,

the railway,

and plenty of blue skies.

Perfect,

just perfect x

you’re it

The lovely Laura over at Dropstitch tagged  me a while ago  for a photo meme.  La rules,

“Open the 6th picture folder on your computer, open the 6th photo and blog it. Write something about it. Then tag 6 more people to do the same.”

This photo is from my first visit to Berlin with my old university friend Helen.  I’m meant to be taking a photo of myself wearing a mustache but as you can see the face-camera-mustache alignment has totally gone to pot so I just look slightly dozy and a little confused.

In the nicest possible way, Helen has always been kind of a kook.  She was on my course at uni and I met her through a friend of a friend and we ended up living together in our second year.  I think a lot of the time I took Helen for granted, but she’s been one hell of a friend throughout the years.  She has also been the source of many a you-won’t-believe-this-but-it’s-true kind of story that are always fun to tell when there’s a quiet moment in conversation.  Like the time when she was younger and cut the tendon in her thumb opening a can of food for the cat.  Not wanting to disturb the babysitter, she fixed her hand up with sellotape and went to bed.  When her parents came home a few hours later they  found Helen fast asleep in a puddle of sticky tape and blood.  She still can’t move her left thumb.

I went to Berlin with Helen because John is a big chicken and therefore afraid of flying.  So he stayed home and looked after Donald for the week and had to make do with the odd phone call, black bread, and an ’I Love Berlin’ lighter when I got back.  For those of you out there considering Helen as a travelling companion, I would highly recommend her. 

She lives in London now and is going out with a 50 year old transvestite guitar player.  I miss her very much and worry about her in equal measure.  I’m not going to tag anyone for this but if you want to play you’re welcome to! x

anorak

John and I went out for a Sunday jaunt to the local retail park this morning and for the want of any decent adult grown-up magazines, I opted for Anorak instead.  The English teacher side of me was rather proud this issue too…

I’m thinking of taking it into show my A Level English Language students who still have a hard time with grammar terminology.  Mind you, who don’t struggle with past participles and split infinitives from time to time.  One of my favourite bits was thinking about the words you use.  I’ve filled in my answers to the questions below – you can tell I’m a teacher by my most repeated word – so what about you?  Any words that make you squirm or light up with glee?!  Let me know! x

what is essential…

is invisible to the eye

When i was a kid I loved The Little Prince.  When I got older I realised the importance of this line from it…  Made with glow in the dark floss x

behind the scenes

Looking at my last proper post I realised that I’ve been absent an awful lot lately and if I’m totally frank, there really isn’t a good reason.

I have been doing things though, honest.  Like I made an afghan,

a ripple stripe afghan, eleven colours, two repeats, double crochet nine, skip two, double crochet nine, three double crochet in one, repeat ad infinitum.

This was particuarly relaxing to make and crocheted up a lot quicker than I expected.  I also made le slouch.  In cream for myself,

and burgundy for my mum’s mother’s day present.

This is another simple, TV watching pattern, especially when you get onto the seed stitch of the main body and you just go round and round and round for six gloriously simple inches.

I also made some peanut butter cups,

using this recipe.  And then, finally, happily, I went to see the Killers,

and oh my, they were good.

And I promise that my next post will be better.  Don’t give up on me yet x

hey, it’s my birthday…

indulge me x

hop on

I told you I had knitting content coming up didn’t I?  Well may I present to you the Easter jumper,

 

The cavorting bunnies on the bottom of this were adapted from a vintage pattern for a baby cardigan.  The sweater itself is just your basic bottom-up, knit in the round pullover with a yoke.  There would have been short row shaping but I forgot and couldn’t be bothered to frog and re-do.  I am not a poster child for ‘proper’ knitting. 

 

This jumper has it’s problems.  The yoke part of it is bigger than I’d like it to be, I think my gauge went a little off.  When in knit the bunnies on the bottom I should really have staggered the yarn as I carried it over as it peeps through in places.  But despite these flaws I love it.  And that’s what matters in the end isn’t it? x

just like old times

It was half term again this week so I took the customary trip back to my mum and step dad’s in North Yorkshire for a few days of being spoilt and pampered.  Mum and I went to York for a day’s shopping and a very brief walk on the walls.

It’s funny.  When I was a teenager I knew York like the back of my hand.  My friends and I would get the train over on a Saturday morning and spend the whole day there, finding all the vintage shops, eating tuna melts when they were still a novelty and not something you could get in Sayers, hanging round by the river and later, as we got older, going to the cinema for afternoon double bills, finding a seat in the Cross Keys so we could play pool on the purple table and going to this funny club, the entrance of which used to flood in bad weather to the point where you had to cross a gang plank to get in.

Now when I go back I hardly recognise anything.  There used to be a ton of little second hand shops and those incense-smelling hippy shops that 13 year olds love.  Now they seem to have vanished.  The last one I knew about had closed down when we went this time and those that are still there are more expensive and less, well, grotty.  Is this a sign of getting older, that I’m lamenting the ‘good old days’?  Surely in a student town there should be enough interest to keep a vintage clothes shop going?  Have I suddenly and become out of the loop?  Or does everyone just get their clothes from H&M and Topshop now?  Crikey…

Some of the good old things are still there though.  Like silly street names, the Minister, the Army and Navy store and dogs that want to get in every one of your shots x