Walking uphill; or, the beauty of a barn door

 I have great dreams of powering off to the gym every morning, and honing those muscles in preparation for the physically demanding tasks of basting a quilt top or casting on a legwarmer. But, alas and alack, they remain dreams - as the days get shorter, the nights longer and the mornings darker, it takes an even greater effort of will to heave myself from the warm and cosy nest that is my bed.

No quilt in sight

If I were left to myself I would spend the winter months huddled up indoors, never straying too far from the fire or sofa. But luckily I have the services of a personal trainer to keep me up to the mark.

An October morning

Several mornings this week I have tried to begin the day by sitting at my computer, thinking that I couldn't possibly go out in the cold and damp because I have so much to do, but no, there is no slacking - there is my trainer by my side, arms around me, whispering in my ear, come along do, you know it is time for our yomp, you know it will do us both good.

Personal trainer extraordinaire

She will brook no refusals, and shivering and resigned I find myself in the lane, wrapped up to the nines, wellied and ready.

The road less travelled

And she is right, you know.

Green and growing

It is the best thing in the world on a dreary grey morning to go out into the wide world to seek out the tiniest weakest gleam of watery sunshine peering from behind a cloud, to find the widest most open spaces you can, stand on the highest point you can reach in the landscape, get a little breathless, look far and near, and observe the seasons and the weather and the green growing things defying the turning of the year.

Poppies on the grattan

Nothing can match the bliss of walking out one mid-autumn morning and listening to the curlew crying and hearing the wind in the trees, the sound of far, far away traffic a distant hum, and the sound of boots slap, slap on the muddy lane the most insistent noise around.

More flowers in October

There is nothing better than this and I would wish myself nowhere else, with the soft ground underfoot and my faithful friend by my side.

Come on, keep up

There is some Welsh in her ancestry and I imagine her forebears as drovers' dogs, padding across the land, watching and listening, herding and keeping safe.

Waiting

And I saw barn walls perfect for hanging quilts on, sitting waiting in the morning light, and now I am hoping that one fine day I will turn the corner and see there amongst the trees and the clouds a quilt hanging, blowing gently in the breeze, a vision just for me.

Sweet dreams are made of this: adventures in quilting

As the temperatures fall, and now that I have two socks and an almost legwarmer on hand to keep those stocky legs cosy, I have been wondering how to counteract the chilly nights. The Head Chef and I have been married so long that our duvet contains only a memory of goosedown, and thus needs some supplementary layers to ensure that I at least wake rosy with the dawn rather than blue and shivering under the eaves.

Thus some years ago, before I knew a layer cake from a jelly roll, I bought one of each in the misguided notion that I would have to  do barely more than untie the ribbon and hey presto! a king size patchwork quilt would appear before my very eyes (at least that is what the woman in the shop led me to believe - and she showed me one that she had whipped up herself in an hour or two).

The fabric (Sanctuary by Three Sisters for Moda) also caught my eye, jumping out as it did amongst the bolts of midnight blue printed with gold pharaohs and tabby cats sitting amongst daffodils, and so when I signed up for the Learn to Patchwork Day I also took possession of a selection of matching fat quarters, without any clear idea of how it would all come together in a quilt. Then six months later in the sales I pounced upon some half-price end of rolls in yes, you have guessed it, Sanctuary (there is a theme emerging here, you may say to yourself [remember also that I was quite innocent back then regarding the temptation inherent in the concept of the online fabric store]).

And there things rested, getting dusty under the bed rather than keeping me warm on top, until I had read the prettiest quilting book and practised on some baby quilts here and here, and graduated to Princess size here, and spent some time as a Farmer's Wife (yes, it's still a WIP, but I am getting there very slowly).

And hey presto! here is a very large (by my standards) quilt top made from the jelly roll and some of the yardage. The pattern is Blue Lagoon (which as you might have guessed is a blue and white quilt, so perhaps I should call mine Pink Pond), from this excellent book by the talented Lintott mother and daughter team. I just added a double border to increase the warmth factor.

I am now on such a roll that on Sunday afternoon I cut up the Sanctuary layer cake and have laid out the pieces for a companion quilt in order to be extra cosy. (I did make the mistake of using the largest dog-free floor space in the house, which is in the B&B sitting room, and no, I don't mind potential guests ringing up at 4pm on a Sunday and saying are you vacant, could we be with you in an hour, we'll ring you right back. It is no trouble at all to pick up 196 squares and transport them upstairs and tidy the floor and plump up the cushions and move it all upstairs and then find the squares can't fit on our bed and bring it all down again when you realize that they are not going to ring back, no trouble whatsoever, says she smiling sweetly.)

Dog-free zone

And did I say dog-free? Well, except for a Little Black Dog who shall remain Nameless who sneaked in while no one was about and scuffed up one corner, and I know it was you Little Stranger because of the nature of the discombobulation and the little bits of black dust and grit scattered so artfully on the white sheet.

This quilt is also based on a Lintott pattern from here - a very simple one called Charming Flowers, but I am afraid I had to line up the asymmetrical stars. (Such is my need for order in my life that I can't cope with too much asymmetry and had to arrange them evenly.)

Symmetrical

There is just the sticky question of backing and quilting a big double quilt - a bit too big to hand quilt, I think, and I am feeling slightly nervous about the whole thing. I have a walking foot, unused, and occasionally eye it with trepidation.

Maybe a bigger sewing table and more space in which to manhandle the quilt and pin it out would jolt me out of my impasse ...

Hence my latest project for the Head Chef: turning our luxury shed into a bijou super-deluxe office (which can of course be used as a sewing studio when no one is feeling officious).

But knowing the Head Chef's capacity for procrastination (which puts my efforts on that front into the shade) I have a feeling that I will be shivering quiltless in my bed for some time ...

He promised to take me for a walk last Wednesday ...

There are some newbies on the block to welcome to the jolly band - hello to Gilly at Gilly Makes (she has just done some very pretty quilting), Bee at The Linen Cloud (very nice granny blanket on the go), Su at Living on the Edge (I love her beachy textile creation),  and Sweet Posy Dreams (who is busy decorating) - Blogland is such a hive of industry that I think we can all pat ourselves on the back.

Now what shall I make next ...?

Sock issues

Captain Lurgy has been in residence at the cottage and his requirements for bed and board have been quite tiresome, but I decided that I must drag my frail frame from its indolent habitation on the sofa in order to prove that I still exist and that some days I manage to achieve something.

What with the gammy hand and the dicky neck and the tender ministrations of Captain Lurgy, my output has not matched my aspirations, but I am distinctly conscious that there is a nip hovering in the air, and the season to be cosy approaches nearly.

Nice socks

So my creative efforts have been concentrated on things warm and comforting. Hence the stripy socks. Hand-knitted socks, as I am sure that I have said before, are like cashmere cardigans - one encounter and you are ruined forever (I am still in hopes that Brora will suddenly email me, begging to sponsor my blog and offering copious amounts of things cashmere to review).

Thus I try to knit one or two pairs of cosy socks a year, and you may look at and admire my Jubilee Socks. (Yes, I was a Bay City Roller fan when I was a mere scrap of a girl - why did you ask?)

Heavy duty winter warmers

I cast on these jolly numbers on the Jubilee weekend in June - we had fled the country in honour of the celebration and as I sat in sunny Brittany I was quite bemused to see that the French were quite over-excited about the whole event (little union flag logos on the TV screen and hysterical TV presenters in the rain on the riverbank interviewing equally bemused Brits in their waterproofs), so we didn't have to miss anything.

I knitted my very patriotic socks, quietly satisfied that for once the weather in the country in which we had chosen to holiday was sunny and dry, and that it looked pretty grey, wet and cold at home. The converse is usually true and it has become something of a holiday essential for me to be out searching the shops for heavy-duty Goretex.

Titanic

Unfortunately I have still not solved the problem of how to photograph myself in my new socks without my ankles thickening before my very eyes, or my thighs appearing to be of titanic proportions (I hear my sister sniggering as she reads this, and muttering 'stumpy' ...)

Stumpy

In my defence, I would like to say that these have been made as top-layer winter socks, extra-roomy to accommodate an underneath pair, for those months when my circulation comes to a halt mid-calf. The pattern is my usual favourite from Ann Budd's book, and the yarn is Regia 4-ply sock yarn - I now find out that it is Flusi Das Socken Monster yarn (colour 1807) especially for small children with small legs. I was not warned about this in the shop. Perhaps that is why my ankles are so rotund in appearance?

Hmm, they are a bit on the thick side

And I have also just cast on some super-cosy legwarmers (free pattern here) to ensure that my legs look equally thick the whole way along.

It is also of some comfort to me that the Little Stranger likes my socks - I know this because she jumped on my stomach and licked my face and my camera. The lens will probably never be the same again.

Thank you for all of your lovely comments on the previous post. I will come and say hello to you in return as soon as I can get round you all. Perhaps you could also say hello to the lovely new followers who are Kay at Deep in the Cornish Countryside,  Sarajan at Fleachic, Pattypan at Tarragon & Thyme, Debby at Cozy Blanket, Geraldine at Sophie Belle Designs, Cheryl at My Little Piece of England,  Maggie Moore at Pretty Flowers in the Window, and Kaylagking.

From a health and safety point of view you will be pleased to hear that no socks or black dogs were harmed in the manufacture of this post, but unfortunately a party of ants hitched a ride and are only now emerging from their hiding places about my person. With skin crawling I salute you and depart ...

Hexie happiness

Standing on the bridge, steering some admirals into harbour, and scratching her head over the complexities of indexing compound names (who am I to talk?), not to mention chaps who change rank and style far too often . . . she tenders her most sincere apologies to all who have emailed and commented and promises that when she gets this weighty tome off to the printers she will return the compliments most profusely.

But in the interim, why not make a charmingly capacious pencil case all ready for the new term (oh, how I do love that word, capacious. I yearn for capacious pockets and capacious portmanteaus [portmanteaux is also acceptable to the highest authorities, but apparently not to Blogger ...] ...).

Charmingly capacious

Your little dears will soon be departing for the halls of academe and you can assure yourself of a place in their hearts by providing them with a constant reminder of your presence in the form of a handmade pencil case.

Once again, my sewing guide and mentor Amy has come up with the perfect pattern for you to make your own pencil case - the one and only Hexiecase, capacious enough to hold all the pencils and pens that any child could possibly need.

And speaking of capaciousness, you may remember that I made one here which proved to be just the right dimensions to transport my sock knitting about. For the latest model I used fusible fleece, which gives a nice squashy effect, or for a more structured look, use standard interfacing like this.

Sadly, for me I no longer have little people setting off to school with shiny new pencil cases, so I have made my own Hexiecase just for me - it sits on my desk and in its capacious recesses I hide my very special pens for correcting admirals and their ilk (there is nothing so fine as these pens and people like to steal them so they must be hidden from husbands with pen-kidnapping tendencies).

Who knows what is occurring in those voluminous recesses?

And I am down to my very last pen for checking footnotes - its friends have vagrant tendencies and so I am afraid my little orange chum must be confined in the voluminous folds of the Hexiecase. Perhaps it will be impelled to breed in the darkness?

She sighs. The admirals are tugging at her sleeve (it is an Admiral of the Fleet this time, and they are the worst of all name changers), and she suddenly realizes that she has spent full half an hour browsing pretty pens on Amazon ...  (the ones shaped like vegetables are definitely not pretty) ... come Tuesday, she will be strung up from the yardarm, or set to holystoning the decks at least.

Adieu ... her voice trails on the breeze ... adieu ... (she departs taking her ellipses with her).

Sometimes ...

Sometimes a little party by the beach is just what you need on a Wednesday night...

Just sitting in front of the most heavenly beach house which is a work of art in itself  ...

 Just sitting and chatting and laughing and eating cake ...

Feeling the sea breeze and watching the sun go down ...

Thank you Marilyn and Emma for enticing us out, and happy happy to Francine.

Growing up fast

It is not every Monday morning that I am greeted at the gate by four little piggy smiles when I am about to set off to work, but yesterday was one such.

Butter wouldnt melt ...

The day had already had a slightly hectic quality thanks to an early run to the station with the General, and breakfast for the B&Bs, and Princess Bunchy doing a Sleeping Beauty impression beyond the point of amusement and into the zone where parental blood pressure is elevated to a level considered a risk to health.

Pigs on the run

And time was running on apace to the extent that I could not delay my departure for work if I wanted to arrive at the office at a time which would still be within the bounds of decency, and indicative of a certain willingness, if not quite enthusiasm, for work.

So I had to dismiss anxious thoughts about the impermeability of the hedge between the field and the road, and the adventurousness of pigkind . . . [How could four sweet little scraps like this, so meek and mild and shy, turn into the rumbustious quartet we have today, in the space of six short weeks?]

Sweet babies

All I could do was foam at the mouth enough to force a promise from the Head Chef that he would abandon his domestic duties and buy a new battery for the electric fence and turn the dial high enough to provide a deterrent to our resident escape artists.

New friends?

 By this stage in the proceedings,  I was also beginning to feel that I preside over a disappointingly ill-regulated household, both inside and out, as Princess Bunchy had risen from her couch and descended into the kitchen still wearing yesterday's clothes, albeit slightly crumpled from twelve hours' sleep. [This is not a rare occurrence - I am wondering where I went wrong.]

It was actually a relief to get to work. I think the lesson here is that if you are not enamoured of your employment, and dread Monday mornings, just ensure that you maintain a high enough level of domestic disarray that your place of work seems a place of peace and orderliness in comparison. I am feeling waves of gratitude, just like Soulemama, at the thought.

Happy days!

An unfortunate encounter

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the first time that she has seen the cold light of dawn from an upstairs window for many weeks, and the cold light of dawn is one of her favourite phrases, betokening as it does all sorts of elopements, escapes and adventures.

She has had an adventure herself this week, having been marauded by a cheery dentist, who smiled and smiled but was yet a villain.

His gleaming white teeth were mouthing platitudes as he bent over the chair and as she opened her mouth to reply politely, wham! there was a needle embedded in her jaw, just a little scratch as it scraped the bone and made her teeth creak (he was actually holding it behind his back, would you believe, do they practise this on dental training programmes, the big smile, the pleasant conversation and the quick draw?).

And then what a sight she was (were people laughing and pointing in the street, she didn't dare look).

Would foundation be able to cover that big purple bruise? said Princess Bunchy. (Certainly, it would need stage make-up of a heavy duty sort.)

Your face has sort of dropped down on one side, said her dear sister, helpfully. You look like you have Bell's Palsy. (She tested her facial muscles by raising her eyebrow and essaying a tentative grimace. No, not a palsy or a stroke, one must be thankful for small mercies.)

It's all right, it's not a haematoma, said the dentist when she showed him that she really had turned into a hamster, in spite of what the receptionist had said on the phone. He smiled gleefully and said that perhaps she could wear a large scarf if she needed to go out.

A brown paper bag, more like, she muttered bitterly to herself, except then she would no doubt fall over and add to the effect so ably produced by the man with the sparkly teeth.

There was nothing for it but for her to retire to an armchair by the fire, eat copious quantities of very soft chocolate muffins broken up exceedingly small, and sulk (I think she will thus have a rotund midriff to match the hamster visage, and thus feel even more unable to meet her public face to face).

She would also like to thank all the lovely people who have sent kind emails and enquiries as to her wellbeing, and apologize profusely for her tardiness in replying, her only excuse being that January is the cruellest month and a period of hibernation proved to be the only solution.

February is almost as bad, but at least you don't have to get up in the dark quite so much.