Sunday, 5 November 2017

Measure, measure and measure again!

This week, at the grand old age of fifty, I made my very first pair of grown up-lined-and-complete-with-header-tape curtains.
Many things surprised me - that I'd never done it before, that header tape is cheaper now than it was 20 years ago - that my slapdash measuring wasn't accurate.

Ah yes - the measuring.
After a brief and approximate flurry of a tape measure, when it came to seam allowances I decided my eye would be fine.
Fine meant one curtain hanging a good inch longer than the other.
And a hurried repair job resulting in a double seam on one curtain.
Luckily I love the fabic enough to overlook this minor failing.
Afterall, it's flamingos, backed with pink and white polka dots.

I have my eye on more fabric, this time for the bedroom.
Having recently gone sofa free I now have the space I've craved to spread out with reams of fabric.

I've had a love hate relationship with the sofa.
Sometimes there's nothing better than being sprawled under a blanket on the sofa, chocolate in one hand, remote in the other.
But it was making me lazy.
And taking up valuable floor space.
Suddenly, I was resenting the sofa.
Glaring at it.
So, last week, as a victim of my recently acquired decluttering frenzy, it was unceremoniously ousted to the pavement, enroute to the local recyling centre.
And I haven't missed it at all.

For anyone interested in making their own curtains, I found the Craftsy blog post above very easy to follow.
And my tip...measure, measure and measure again!

Saturday, 29 July 2017

F-F-F-fifty. Clearing out and starting afresh.


Well, two weeks in and my world didn't spin on its axle.
I didn't suddenly find my inbox innundated with Saga offers and Plan your own Funeral promotions.
I didn't suddenly wake up feeling morose.
But what it did give me was a sense of restlessness and craving for adventure.
Which is a bit tricky when I struggle to stay awake past 11pm and have a tolerance for alcohol that fails after a two glasses of wine!

When I think back to the alcohol consumed from communal blue jugs during my backpacking, kibbutz hopping days...
Or the partying till 3am and still up for work by 6...
Now, I have an out of date passport, an over stuffed coalshed and get excited by branch loppers!
And an urge to streamline my accumulated clutter and chuck out anything that isn't useful or beautiful.

It's amazing how much clutter we accumulate over the years, all that ''just in case'' stuff we keep for a time when it may be useful.
Layers upon layers of STUFF.
I'm still working my way through to the darkest depths of the coalshed, through the coal blackened cobwebs and dustballs hiding decades of accumulated clutter destined for the skip.
Inside, I've thrown out so much clutter that if I ignore the shop stock it's looking practically minimal :)

Strangely satisfying and definitely a knock on effect from reaching fifty.

Monday, 3 July 2017

Suki. Diary of a cat with hyperthyroidism.

So, a week in from the first diagnosis and I would say my pill giving technique needs some improvement.
A combination of me still learning and Suki being wise to all the tricks.
''Just mix it in with her food''  the vet said.
Ha!!! Suki just nibbles around it.
''Coat it with something sticky, like cream cheese, and the cat won't notice it''  said the forum post.
Well, notice it she did!
So for now we're perservering with the pill-down-the-throat technique.
And eight times out of ten I'm sure it goes down.
Although today, after Suki dutifully made all the swallowing actions, I later discovered it on the outside mat.
We're getting there, but she's upset with me today, and hiding under the raspberry canes.
And I feel suitably guilty.

''I'm sure there's a hedgehog here somewhere...''

Tuesday, 27 June 2017

Suki. Diary of a cat with newly diagnosed hyperthyroidism.

Age 14 and two thirds.
Skitty, faithful and a mini diva, yesterday diagnosed with hyperthyroidism.

It's a big responsibility, knowing a pet is totally dependent on you for daily medication for life.
Daily administering of a pill, twice daily.
The first went down on attempt number 3.
The second I went for the gentler approach of hiding in food, but cats aren't stupid, and she ate around it!
I'm going to have to get creative/devious with the tablets.

This is a fortnight where Suki turned my hair grey with worry and putting off the inevitable visit to the vets.
There was the audible breathing, hours spent sleeping under the raspberry canes, cystitis, and finally a lump the size of a broadbean on her neck.
The lump worried me.
Terrified me, with thoughts of cancer.
And then the vet heard a swooshing sound whilst listening to her heart.
The words ''heart murmur'' were mentioned, and she was kept in for tests.
And I had to walk through a packed waiting room minus a cat.

The waiting was awful.
Not getting results over the phone sounded ominous.
But the heart results were clear, kidney disease was clear and hyperthyroidism suddenly didn't seem so bad a diagnosis.

And Suki's home.

Friday, 23 June 2017

Formica. Oozing retro nostagia.

The humble formica table.

As a child of the seventies I grew up with formica.
It was a staple in cafes, along with sugar lumps in glass bowls and plastic ketchup bottles.
It had pride of place in my grandparents back room, where I remember it laden with sliced eggs, bread and butter and battenburg every Sunday visit in my teenage.
I was fascinated by the plastic egg slicer with the lethal metal blades.
And my dad remembers playing submarines with the accompanying chairs, with their pop up plastic seat pads.

Now I have taken delivery of my own formica table, and it has pride of place in the kitchen.
It's been a long time since I've seen these tiles, which lurked behind a not-so-lovely coal burner and later a quirky 1940s cabinet.
And seem to be missing vast chunks of tile under the newly banished cobwebs and dust...another project!

Originating from the 1950s, with beech legs and matching chairs, it is wonderfully solid and retro.
I love the chunky Formica top, with its extendable leaves and powder blue finish.
I love the puffiness of the plastic seat bases, with their gently curved beech wood frames.
And it's carried me into a wave of nostalgia.

A vintage treasure from my favourite shop in Swansea, 
The British Red Cross, with their ever changing, quirky, eclectic mix of vintage furniture.

Saturday, 27 May 2017

Roses are pink, Sugar Skulls red..

Well, as I don't seem to be in imminent danger of distraction by sunshine, Sugar Skulls it is then.

I do have a particular fondness for this fabric.
Both colourways pop, and it's a versatile fabric.
I've surprised myself with this new found penchant for skulls fabric!
This one will be a coffee cosy.

Surprising how quickly you get used to wall to wall sunshine.
In a week which saw temperatures rivalling Southern Europe rather than the usual welsh spring bathed in grey drizzle, this morning came as a bit of a shock.
And it's cold!

On the upside...and I'm grasping at straws means less distraction from the lure of the garden, a good book and a recliner, but that's not much of an upside!

So...bad TV and a solid day of stock building it is then, with the backdrop of my favourite garden rose through the window.
I've never been particularly good with flowers, but this is a fifteen year old rose bush that just seems to look after itself.
And, unlike me, it thrives in the rain.

Unlike the hedgehogs, who certainly don't take kindly to getting drenched of a night time.

Big Boris, making his nightly visit through the garden fence.
Beautiful Tiggy, seemingly pregnant!

Little Alfred,  a juvenile hedgehog who first appeared in the Autumn.

Sunday, 30 April 2017

Solace in a tin of wax.

Well, did I blink and miss summer?
Woken today to pots blown about the garden, courgettes wilted in the cold and bedraggled potato leaves.
And reflecting on a week which stirred up so many long forgotten memories and what ifs.

So, in an attempt (largely unsuccessful) to banish these thoughts I have thrown myself into painting.
There is something very therapeutic about waxing furniture.
Which is probably just as well, as I have six unloved little side tables arriving on Thursday, along with numerous pastel hues of paint.