Who needs dignity anyway....

Well, that was a great weekend. Mr Biscuitnose (the character formerly known as Boyfriend) (I should add that he is still Boyfriend but he now has an alias) and I ate, drank, slept, ate, drank, drank some more and generally carried on like that. It was fantastic. We only get these frivolous and mildly debauched weekends once every six weeks when neither of our offspring are at home. At the pub on Saturday there was a wedding party with a 1920s theme to the outfits. They looked great, especially the bride who had on a gorgeous backless white dress - a bit like this one:

with a vintage hair decoration to match. Some of the men were wearing spats and looked like they'd just come from the speakeasy. It was so cool!

On Sunday Mr B and I went for a lovely long bike ride. We live right next to the canal in Worcester and it's a perfect spot for a Sunday jaunt on two wheels. We rode and rode, and got beyond the city limits - we nearly reached the exotic locale of Droitwich! However as we reached those badlands, it all started to go wrong... the towpath gave out and turned into two muddy ruts. I struggled to ride in one rut or the other, but my lack of steering ability failed me dramatically and I did a slow-motion fall off my bike into a ditch full of brambles and stinging nettles. I was more or less the wrong way up and starting to get quite concerned that I was slipping downwards but happily a tree stump saved me and I was manfully rescued by the heroic Mr B. Getting my bike away from the clutches of the brambles was a little more difficult. All the while this Casualty-esque scene was being watched by a middle-aged couple who just stood there and gawped, rather than coming up to help or at least find out if I was alright. How rude! But my laughter probably told them that I was fine, and the most injured part of me was by far and away my dignity..... I seem to have a habit of falling off things. This being upright lark isn't as easy as it looks y'know!

So next weekend it's the craft fair at the Guildhall in Worcester. I'm looking forward to it (it's inside for one thing, so even if it weewees with rain - which looks likely - I won't get wet). I've had such mixed results at this point with selling things at fairs that I've no idea how it will go - all I can do is make as many new pieces this week as I can in the time available and hope for the best. At least it will be a nice chance to meet some other crafty people. Apparently there will be biscuits too :-)

Aaaaaaand relax....

Hip hip hooray, it's Friday, and it hasn't come soon enough. It's been a long and slightly stressy week. I started out tired for no reason at all, and haven't exactly improved as the week went on, and over the course of the week it's become apparent that in the coming months, changes at work mean that I will have to become some sort of campus oracle, only without the perks that us oracles usually get such as jewels and sacrifices being made in my honour.

This will be me pondering a student's question about liability for Council Tax:

This particular Friday is one of those where I undertake the almighty yomp down to London and back for my son to spend the weekend with his Dad. It's not entirely what I feel like doing with my Friday night, but I don't mind the train journeys too much. Staring out of the window with no obligations and nothing in particular to do for a few hours is relaxing and gives good thinking time. I'm not so keen on the trip back again from London though - after Oxford (about half way) the train empties out and gets emptier as it trundles though everywhere with a pub and a post office and Friday night wears on, and that's when the weirdos get on. Luckily they tend to keep themselves to themselves and I haven't yet had an incident worse than the time when I lived down south and unwittingly sat in a carriage with a flasher. As Son and I sat down, I noted that the man opposite us did look rather a lot like Nosferatu, but thought nothing more of it... until I happened to glance at his foot stretched out into the gangway of the carriage. It was yellow with long, revolting toenails.... and both shoeless and sockless. My eyes followed his leg from the ankle up and it became pretty clear that apart from the (in hindsight, obligatory) dirty brown mac the guy was wearing, he was absolutely butt naked. We moved to another carriage pretty quickly with him staring at us all the while....

I'm pleased to say that the rest of my commuting life has been a whole lot less unsavoury. I usually like to take something with me to do and it's kind of entertaining seeing people trying to work out what I am making when I'm sitting there with needle and thread and cloth or a pair of pliers and stash of beads. I've made a lot of jewellery lately, so today I'm going to make a monkey out of felt. I made quite a nice choker necklace last night but there are no pictures yet - I think I'm going to have to model it and get Boyfriend to take a picture before I can put it up for sale, but before that happens my pimple has to go.... I'm too old for this stuff! It seems hugely unfair that I have a Cruella de Ville-style rash of grey hairs starting to annexe one part of my hairline but I still get the odd spot that wouldn't look out of place on a teenager. This, in my opinion, is why I still get ID'd trying to buy alchohol. It's nothing to do with youthful good looks, it's all about the spots. C'mon, Nature, what did I ever do to you? Is it because I gave up my membership of Greenpeace?? But they were sending me junk mail...

Anyway, I have coffee to drink and biscuits to eat. (Yep, busy busy busy, I don't know how I cope!)
A splendid weekend to you all :-)

Morning blues

It's just before ten in the morning and I think I'm having one of those days where I've really had enough. I think I might get myself a large badge that says "I'm not your bitch". Maybe a neon sign to hang above my desk saying the same thing, as signage in the workplace can never be too obvious, so I've learned. I've just had someone semi-blame me for the fact that they do not have any compliment slips or headed paper with their name on it. It is actually not part of my role to make sure that other people have these things. I also don't have to breathe for them or chew their food and spit it back into their mouth for them like a mother bird, though maybe I should check my job description to make absolutely sure.

While I'm ranting, I also REALLY hate it when people say "Have we heard back from Finance yet about....?" What they mean is: Did you email the Finance office and ring them and fax them and sit on their desk holding a gun to their head until they sorted out my problem? You DIDN'T???? Well what do you  DO all day, you lowly, administrating scum???? And NO, I CANNOT sort out my own problem (even though you explained very carefully and precisely to me last week how I do this), because I am on a higher plain than you, and you are a clerical troglodite who is incapable of thinking about things that do not involve staples or filing cabinets, and the whole thing is beneath me quite frankly.

I think I may go into the loo and have a little cry now.

In other news, I made this the other day. I really like it (which I know is quite big-headed to say) but I do.

100 is the Magic Number....

I've read a couple of times now that 100 is some kind of magic number on Etsy and that when you have 100 items in your shop suddenly sales will rocket and you won't be able to scoot to the post office fast enough to keep up. Hmmmm... now is it me, or does that sound a bit like nonsense? Why 100? If it's true, however, I have a lot of work to do. I did make this last night though:

I dropped all the bloody beads all over the sofa about 4 times having painstakingly threaded them, and hence will be pricing it at a fiver due to mental distress.

Alien Abduction

I have proof that this exists. Number One Son has been tidying his room... or, should I say, his alien replacement has been tidying his room. So if anyone's spotted strange lights in the sky over Worcestershire, don't worry, it was just the mothership dropping off my son's Doppelganger.

I bought my beads. They're very nice beads - and that's all I'll say on the subject, since I would hate to send anyone into a boredom-induced coma.

In between drooling over new beads (NOT LITERALLY I hasten to add, in case anyone reading this who might consider buying anything from me is instantly put off by the thought of receiving something in the post which would require the donning* of Marigolds before removing it from the package) and making dinner (chilli, AGAIN) I was assisting the Alien with sorting out stuff he had ejected from his room. He's parting with some things that really used to mean a lot to him - books from his beloved primary school down south before we moved, Christmas cards from old friends.... this clear-out seems to signal a real shift in him. He's got old enough now to start leaving the past behind - more than that, he's finally old enough to have a past. It's a strange thing to think about, for me.

*is donning a word?

Guilt and beads

I've got something in my eye today - not in a 'Brief Encounter' sort of way - I'm not holding back the tears and maintaining a Stiff Upper Lip for any reason - I really have. A pesky bit of grit most likely. I keep blinking furiously with my right eyelid as if I have a tic - I think Frau Farbissina had something similar going on in The Spy Who Shagged Me.

Anyway. The vintage fair on Friday was fab. I sold approximately a third of my stock which was really quite astonishing to me, never before having had people actually pick up things on my stall, go oooh and ahhh over them, and then actually buy them. I think I may actually have been in mild shock afterwards when lovely Boyfriend kindly picked me up in his van. A few of the vintage items went, but most of what I sold was my own handmade stuff. It felt really nice and has given me back some confidence in myself and my ability to make things that people might actually want.

Something happened that bothered me a bit  though - three other ladies also had vintage stalls at the fair and one of them mentioned that she'd considered doing the Worcester Flea but after reading my blog post about the last one wasn't sure. So I just wanted to put the record straight -  the Worcester Flea is a really good fair for anyone wanting to buy or sell vintage items, and the more people turn out for it, the more popular it will become. I would hate to think that I had put anyone off, as it's great for Worcester to have its own regular vintage fair and I will certainly be visiting it as a buyer. (End of public announcement). Phew. I've been feeling guilty about that all weekend.

Weirdly enough - or not - the Swedish Army hat didn't sell. I think I have figured out the reason for its small size - maybe the Swedish Army recruits people with small heads, as small head = small target. Duh... I don't know why I didn't think of that before! Makes perfect sense when you think about it. Clever old Swedes.

So now I have an excuse to buy more beads and make more jewellery again. Is it really sad to get excited over glass beads? No, don't answer that.

One Woman's Teacups

It's fair day again today. This time it's at my work where they are holding a late Jubilee Street Party (except due to the weather behaving like a 3 year old on a high sugar diet at the moment it's going to be indoors unfortunately). I will be having two stalls, one with my Pins and Needles stuff on it and the other will be a vintage stall, selling (unsuprisingly) vintage items. The word vintage can cover many sins and basically seems to mean 'any old cack that's over 30 years old'. This means that I am vintage - hoorah!

The list of things on my stall consists of the following and gets more random the further down you go:
-Two sets of matching teacups, saucers and cake plates
-A glass cake stand/thing that would look nice with grapes on it or even better with bonbons (but then bonbons can improve many things)
-A silver-plated toast rack (which has not seen action since my parents last visited - they liked things to be done properly).
-A green pressed glass dish with a lid which is very nice but as the lid doesn't stay put, is not actually very useful.
-Two volumes of poetry, one WH Auden from 1966 and one Louis MacNeice from 1964 - my favourite poem in it is 'Snow'.
-A 1937 coronation mug with very unflattering images of George VI and the Queen Mother on it
-Two small gold and glass tumblers
-Four small glasses with blue stems. I think they might be for quaffing sherry. Or whatever it is that you do with sherry.
-Two Victorian silver spoons for sprinkling sugar on fruit. These are my favourite items. I love the way that the Victorians felt the need to have a special spoon for this purpose. I once saw a pair of Victorian scissors specifically for cutting grape stalks in an antique shop. Life in Victorian times must have been one long opportunity for committing horrendous social fauxs pas by using the wrong implement. I would probably have ended up incarcerated for being terminally uncouth. Or something.
-A Swedish army hat for a person with an extremely small head. I wonder if they had a big body??
-A polaroid camera which may or may not work. I remember polaroid cameras from when I was a kid and how COOL it looked when a photo came sliding out. I guess having that instant picture is the same as using a digital camera now, but with the added frisson of not knowing whether you'd put your thumb over the lens until it was too late. My Dad never approved of polaroid cameras. I think he actually liked fretting over the light meter and different lenses and twiddling dials and switches while his subject invariably ran/flew away or got bored.
-A slide rule. For those measuring emergencies - I never leave home without mine!*

*This is a lie.

So we shall see what I do and don't come home with......