A Bit of Finishing

Ta daah!

Finished! Here's a picture of it next to my hand, so you get some idea of how teeny-tiny it is:

I was going to do a picture of my hand next to a penny or something so you could get some idea of the size of my hand, but I thought no, that's mental. Anyhoo, I think I'm going to do a wee pile of these bad boys and send them off to charity. I was going to try and get the stupid cat to wear it, but he was all 'you are out of your mind if you think I'm wearing that'. He is very selfish. 

It's very good to finish something though, I've been very smug about it. I got into a bit of a trance with it, and just shuffled around bleary-eyed going 'MUST. FINISH. FINISH. FINISH. FINISH.' I was trying to neaten up the collar when the window cleaner came to the door and made me lose count. Oh, I was FURIOUS. Although in retrospect, I did feel a bit sorry for him. It cannot be pleasant to be greeted at a door by a glaring pajama-clad lady with an afro and mad eyebrows, brandishing a knitting needle. Especially when that lady is hissing 'Do YOU KNOW how many STITCHES are on HERE? Me neither, THANKS TO YOU! WHAT DO YOU WANT? WHAT WINDOWS? I'VE NOT EVEN GOT ANY WINDOWS!' But we're probably friends again. I wonder if he needs a jumper knitted? Hmm.

Today I had some folk round to the crib, chillaxin' an that, and someone brought through my fabric stash for a rake. And I was shamed, SHAMED, for how much l'oeufly fabric I've got just sitting around. So I decided to do a bit of fabric-y making too:

and ended up with:

unt a close-up:

...but it's still not quite right. I'm going to have a fiddle with it and see if I can't neaten it up a smidge. I'm still very new to sewing and I don't seem to be getting any better at it. And I HATE that. I don't want to learn stuff, I want to be immediately good at it. So every time the thread knots or the fabric bunches, or the bobbin runs out, I throw a massive tantrum and phone Len in tears.

It's not a very relaxing hobby, this one.

About Me

I've had a really busy week this week and have done none of the making, so I have nothing to say about anything. Recently I was having a conversation with a friendly work-mate and she asked me 'what do you even write about on your blog?' and I took a deep breath, opened my mouth and...my mind went blank. Then my subconscious kicked in and to fill the now-awkward silence I suddenly yelled 'STUFF!!!!' right into her face. She looked a little startled, as was I.

But, all respect to her, she carried on: 'So do you have personal details on there?' and again, my mind left me and I bellowed 'NOPE!!' It was at that point that she shuffled off, probably to find someone normal to talk to.

So I thought I'd tell you more about myself. Be a bit more personal, if you like. You probably won't like it, but try to be brave. Strap yourselves in chaps, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Name: Baroness Eilidhbelle Sittingonher-Bumbaleerie IV

Age: Mental or physical? Mental: thirteen. Physical: around eighty-five. But in birth years, twenty-six gaaaah!

Appearance: Ginormous face. Mad minging-brown curly hair. More eyebrows than the average person. Slow in gait. A tad cross-eyed. Here's a photo:

NOTE: Husband looks really grumpy in this photo because we'd just come out of Steptoe's Yard and he was still mulling over parting with his hard-earned Scottish Drachma just to keep me, HIS WIFE, happy. Rude. Also, I look blind but I am not.

Profession: Librarian. Yep, I'm a fully qualified hairy library-y. And I work in a school. There is nothing else I can say to make this more exciting. No, wait, I've thought of something: Catwoman was a Librarian. So, in conclusion, I am DEFINITELY Catwoman (FACT).

Pets: Two cats, a stupid one and an unfriendly one. Here's a photo of the unfriendly one being forced to sit on my knee:

He looks like he's being tortured even though I brushed his fur for ages and lured him on with treats. He only likes Husband, and only then it's because he knows Husband doesn't like him. Awkward and annoying. Although he does look exactly like a snow leopard, and he walks like one, which is cool. Also, he's not scared of foxes. But he is scared of pumpkins. Cats are rubbish.

Family: Len, Roy, Sister and Brother. Gran, Grandad, Aunt, Aunt, Aunt, Aunt, Aunt, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin x25.

I can't think of anything else that you might like to know so I'm going to end this post with an anecdote about my life.

Bumbaleerie Mansions is situated on a lovely quiet street that just so happens to be a short cut to the local school. Recently I was doing some gardening (drinking in the garden) when some hooded youths walked by and flicked an empty Haribo wrapper into my hedge. I work in a school, so I know how to speak to the young.

'Yoo hoo! Homie!' I called 'You've WELL dropped your empty sweets bag into my crib. I'm totes 'down' with you dudes 'chilling' whilst 'roamin' past my gaff, but pleaz put your rubbish into de binz, word?' They looked at me in total amazement, probably not used to post-teens such as myself having such a confident grip on street vernacular. One of the youths began to approach me, so I held out my hand in case he wanted to 'fist-bump' to secure our alliance. He did not.

'I'm terribly sorry, Miss, I didn't realise I'd dropped it. I'll put it in the bin immediately. Lovely garden!' he smiled at me kindly and I beamed back. We're proper mates now.

I told Husband about this later and he said mildly 'That's nice dear.' but he's WELL 'jel' that he doesn't have someone watching his back in the hood.