A quilt top, and a wave of aestheticism

The Rose Parade quilt top is complete but it will not be keeping me warm on my holiday sofa this summer; instead it is now on its way to gracing the bed of a princess, a princess who had no call for a quilt until she saw this one in progress.

She stepped in, gave me a little guidance as to fabric arrangements and preferences, and is taking me to town to choose the backing fabric tomorrow.

Blowing in the wind - again

So here is the QUIP moving QUIFward, although it is nigh on impossible for the photographic amateur to get a good picture of a quilt on a tempest-tossed washing line (I had a professional photographer to stay last night, who also complained about the wind, so maybe it isn't just me), but I did rather like the stained glass effect of the reverse side (which also shows up any imperfections in the seams), and the princess is delighted with the finished result (which is a relief).

The art of seaming, or don't look too closely

Although princesses tend to smile sweetly and gaze admiringly on one's belongings in a longing sort of way, and charm them out of one's possession (a Cath Kidston handbag and purse come to mind), their presence in the house does offer some advantages, viz:

1. One now has a valid reason for taking out a subscription to Selvedge (on her behalf, of course) in the furtherance of her artistic leanings;

2. One also has a valid reason for taking a trip up to the Great Wen to visit the V&A (again) all for the sake of the cultural education of the younger generation. (Thrifty hint: there is the most wonderful charity shop almost opposite, where I found the most delectable floral frock last time.)

The trip may not be to the 'too utterly utter' Cult of Beauty exhibition, which was so utterly utter that I want to see it again, and am looking for somebody to come with me, but this time to Yohji Yamamoto (all very cutting edge for a granny fashionista). I have inhabited the nineteenth century so long, that it will do me good to face up to the present one (and the generation gap is made explicit in that the princess in dire need of a cultural education sees a distinction between 'twentieth-century fashion' and 'modern fashion', whereas I in my dotage did not).

If you need to dig a hole, ask a Ploughboy

So I have been reflecting on the way in which my family, young and old, are of great service to me: the Head Chef does bins, drains, and heavy lifting; the Ploughboy will dig a hole anywhere on request, and keeps me up to date with tractor specs; the General is always there for a conversation on typography and the wonders of the Interweb, and I have told you how Princess Bunchy is a great facilitator of unselfish expenditure.

Heavy lifting

I really only wanted to drop in briefly and tell you an everyday story of a quilt, but a shaggy dog wrestled me to the ground and I am beginning to feel quite Aesthetic: as I float off I wish you all an utterly utter weekend, filled with beauty, floral frocks, and a smiling, helpful family.

Beauty and the bin