Button it!

In addition to some new yarn, there are buttons now available at The Hookery.

Just a few.

But still, BUTTONS!

I love buttons.

It ain't lupus...

Remember a while ago I told you about a super-secret project that was taking up ALL of my time? Well, having finished, framed and presented it to its new owner, I can finally share it with you.

Before I do, I should preface this by saying that it wasn't supposed to be such an undertaking.  What I wanted was this.  I saw it ages ago and thought it was ace. I also clocked that the seller sells patterns for her works (or most of them), so I made a small assumption and filed it away in the back of my mind for later. Only when I came to shop for a housewarming present for The Beloved did I find that, alas, the pattern isn't available to buy.

At this point, a normal person would go buy a toaster and give that instead.  Not I.  Suffice to say, my error dawned on me at about 1am when I was struggling to tell the difference between 6 shades of beige. Five - yes, FIVE - weeks later (on the very day we collected the keys and moved in) I dropped it off at the framer's.  This is what I collected this week...

It has a very different feel to the original one. Not so sampler-y, I don't think. And a little stern.  Oh well.  Want a closer look?

Actually, don't look too closely - not all of those stitches are in the same direction. Oops!

I'm pleased to report that The Beloved seems to like it. To be honest, I think he was more relieved than anything else.  When I told him it wasn't quite finished (he presented me with a coffee maker as a house warming gift when we moved in), he was picturing a pair of crocheted y-fronts which I found on Pinterest ages ago and have been threatening him with at every available present-giving occasion since.

So, thank you to Steotch for the idea and manifold apologies for copying it.  I hope you can forgive.

One of those projects...

You know how it starts, you see The Perfect Thing. You file it away in the back of your mind until the appropriate time. You go to buy The Perfect Thing and find it's not for sale.  Nor is the pattern.  Never mind, you think, I'll make my own.

And so you start out.

And then you realise how much work is involved in making The Perfect Thing and how this is at odds with the time that you actually have available.

And you end up working into the night, every night.

And you can't say anything about it because it's Top Secret but it is taking up ALL your spare time.

And you can't blog about it because it's Top Secret and it is taking up all your spare time, so you have nothing else to blog about.

Ah well, I thought I'd give you a sneak peek now that the end is almost in sight.  This is the pattern I am working from:

It's a cross stitch and it's a face. That's about all I can tell you now. There are bits that are a delight to sew - all the flesh tones, for example. There are also bits that are not. All the dark colours. Stitching teeny-tiny crosses in varying shades of grey, blue and black in the dead of night is no fun.  By the time I go to bed, my eyes are screaming. I'll happily admit that there have been times when I considered jacking it all in and buying the intended recipient an electric toothbrush.

But it's for someone special, so I have persevered.

Hopefully it won't be too long until I can show you the finished object. Bear with me!

Well, that's annoying...

I've been working on another cross stitch motif. Because I don't usually Do Things Properly (for reference, see curtains, bookcase and shelves), I just picked up a skein and started sewing merrily away. Alas...

That wisp of red on the right is all the thread I have left. It was from a skein of unbranded embroidery thread, so I reckon my chances of finding an exact match and finishing the project are nil. *sob!*

Coqs

Lately, I've been enjoying a bit of cross stitching. I haven't really done it since school and it's been pleasantly nostalgic and therapeutic in equal measures. Oh, and just a smidge frustrating at times, but let's not dwell on that. I mentioned a while ago that I was working on a present for a friend. Now that it's been handed over, I can share it with you.

My friend is a bit of a francophile. This coupled with the gentle undertone of rudery that this pattern offered made it practically irresistible.

Slapdash Curtains

WARNING!  If you are a professional curtain-maker, you may want to look away now...

I'm quietly convinced that the previous incumbent of my little cottage was a bit of an exhibitionist.  When I moved in, there were curtains in the living room, a blind in the kitchen and a blind in the bathroom that didn't actually work.  Nothing on the bedroom window.  Now, I don't know about you, but I'm not too fussed about people seeing me cook, or seeing me sitting in my living room crocheting away, but I'm not so keen on sharing my bedroom and bathroom habits with the world.  I managed to fix the bathroom blind by dismantling and reassembling it, but the bedroom required a stitchy solution...

How to make a pair of slapdash curtains.

1)  Dig through your fabric box.  Admire all the contents.  Pack the fabric box away.

2)  Go to bed.  If you've done #1, it will have taken you most of the day.  Wake up the following morning knowing exactly which bit of fabric you're going to use.

3)  Check that you've got enough fabric.

I decided that I probably did have enough, so duly went ahead and lopped the piece in half.  Then I had a small panic attack and ran upstairs to peg the pieces against the window to double check.  A normal person would probably use a measuring tape.

4)  Find a lining fabric.  I had an old fitted sheet that was perfect for the job.  It also meant that it was ready-hemmed.  I hate hemming, but more about that later.

5) Chop 10 identical rectangles of fabric.  These will be the tabs at the top of the curtains which mean you can hang them.  No faffing with curtain tape.

6)  Fold and pin the side hems of the outer fabric.  Measure and cut the lining pieces and then slot them in under the side hems.  If you've used a fitted sheet, there will be one very crinkly corner of lining.  This is exasperating and you will need a cup of tea.  Or gin.

7)  Take everything to The Beloved's to press.  I don't have an iron, he does.  Maybe you have an iron too, in which case you don't have to drive to Milton Keynes for this bit.

8)  Get sewing.  By now, I was really hankering after a bit of hand sewing so I sewed all the tabs by hand and the side hems, attaching the fold of the hem of the outer fabric to the lining.

9)  Get bored.  Unpack sewing machine.  The stitches on the tabs at the top of the curtains and one side hem are neat and teeny and look like they were done by pixies.  The other three side hems look like they were done by a woman who realised she had made a terrible mistake but couldn't turn back now.  For the sake of my sanity, I chose to machine the tops.

10)  I pinned and tacked the tops in place.  I'd already cut a couple of strips of the outer fabric to use as a sort of placket (is that the right word?) to neaten the tops on the inside.  I usually just pin and go, but Old Faithful is in storage at The Beloved's so I only have my mini sewing machine here.  It's a plucky little thing, but I thought hitting a pin might be more than it could cope with.

Because I'm lazy, I just top-stitched the lot into place.  I did grit my teeth and hand sew the bottom of the placket-y thing to the lining.

11)  Like I said, I hate hemming.  Hemming is to sewing what sewing in ends is to crochet.  It's a fact of life that most of my sewing projects languish on a hanger for a month or two before I can face giving them a nice neat bottom.  So while the machine was out, and before I could think about it too much, I whizzed across the bottom of the curtains.

12)  Hang your curtains.  Try not to notice the wonky bits.

Photograph them from a suitable distance so that your blog readers can't really see what a botch job they are.  (NB, if you have to take the photo from the next room, you might want to consider putting them back in the fabric box and buying a pair)

Bath III

Welcome to the last instalment of what I got up to in Bath, which is really 'what I bought in Bath', and I suspect, the bit you're most interested in.  Snuggled away down a side street, we came across The Makery.  It's a cute little shop absolutely rammed with button, ribbons, fabric and stuff fabric-y sewing-y peeps will love.  When I walked through the door, I was greeted with an almighty table of buttons.  Heaven.

Excuse the slight blur, by now I was shaking with anticipation

I managed to resist the buttons, but I did come away with some fat quarters, mainly justified by the fact that one of them had robots on, and another had trucks on.  It's so hard to find designs for boys.  We'll skip over the small detail of me not actually having children.  Or being able to quilt.

I picked up some new tailor's chalk as I recently smashed mine and have been fiddling with the shards whenever I sew.  I also bought a few spools, some big oak ones and some smaller (pine?) ones.  Then I bought this:

I am totally and utterly smitten with it.  It's a bit difficult to see, as it's cream and all our walls are light colours, but you can click on the image for a better view.  Sadly, after carrying it around Bath very carefully all day without incident, I got on the 390 bus here in London for the last leg of my journey and was almost bounced down the bus when the driver decided to try a racing start.  One of the prongs broke off my beloved spool rack.  Why can't bus drivers wait until people are sitting?  It wasn't rush hour and I was the only person getting on a bus which had about three passengers.  Grr!  Anyway, I still have the prong if anyone has any ideas how best to reattach it.  It's made of plastic-coated wire, a bit like clothes horses.  I suspect it may require more than a dab of superglue.

So there you go.  Bath.,  Well worth a visit.  Just be careful getting on a London bus with precious objects.