Long Suffering Bear, an apology.

You see, Long Suffering Bear isn't even my bear, it belongs to my other half. I call it Long Suffering Bear on account of the droopy frame and world weary expression. I have to prop the fellow up in order to take half decent pictures.

Poor old bear has been dressed up a lot recently and I fear more indignities ahead. I am knitting tiny things for a not yet arrived child and that makes photographing the finished object a little difficult. Even when the arrival actually arrives, web etiquette suggests that it is not the done thing to post pictures of someone else's child on your public access blog. So the bear it is.

There has been sewing too - but nothing finished as I concentrated on the tiny knitting. And three days in Glasgow with three films a day - which was magical, terrifying and sobering all in one big lump. Magnus has been on the case, helping with my knitting and being a general menace. We went out for dinner last night, to friends in the village and the cat followed us. He gatecrashed the party and ate cream from the pudding bowls before falling asleep in a menacing manner just above our hosts' rat's cage.

The observant amongst you might notice that I am wearing pajamas in the not so flattering picture. It was only just after lunchtime and I had sworn to myself that I would finish the little white smock before doing anything else that day. Including getting dressed.

A good blue day.

I have been making this beast for months and it is finally finished. Made from thrifted and gifted pairs of jeans and mattress ticking from a second hand shop, it cost me practically nothing except blood sweat and toil. Literal blood - my softy knitter's fingers were unprepared for the hardship of sewing without a thimble. At one point I needed to call upon Archie's pliers to help me through three layers of fabric.

The crockery in the picture were the templates for the circles that I embroidered in my own sashiko-ish way. One dinner plate, a side plate, and a bowl that my chum Marianne had brought one day filled with cholcolate brownies and I'd failed to return.


I like it very much. So much that I ran outside and threw it in the snow so that I could take some snazzy pictures. The light was blue with cold and so was I.

Curtains, why bother?

I've never liked curtains. Not for me the the big fully lined blackout that keeps a room in darkness till noon. I want to know that the light is changing and to lift my head, half-awake and catch the dawn as it breaks. Or, as happened in my teenage bedroom, to lie on the mattress* on the floor and watch as the ceiling changed colour, reflecting of the flare from the local Gas Plant.

It all went horribly wrong when I moved to Glasgow and lived in a flat on a busy road. I continued my no-curtain policy till one day I wandered into my room naked from a shower. A movement from across the road caught my eye. In the window opposite, stood a group of young men waving enthusiastically. The curtains went up that same day. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, a few weeks later I told the tale while having a drink in my local pub. A young man at the table leaned over saying: " So that was you ! " He had been one of the window enthusiasts.

I may be softening though, last week saw us back in Glasgow shopping for the things you need after a bathroom and a living room have been decorated. I wasn't convinced that we needed a blind for the bathroom, after all we are one floor up and have frosted glass. Then I found the most beautiful blind ever - a Lucienne Day design in perfect colours. It has been purchased and placed with great care in our loo and I find myself wandering in every now and then just for a look.

In other news Kat was the winner of my pick a picture competition. My mother very kindly drew the winning name from a paper bag yesterday. Let me know what picture you would like.

* Not that I was was forced to sleep on a mattess due to parental cruelty. I was sixteen and thought I was being cool.