I have a cleaner lined up! Whilst cleaning green algae off the bath about ten days ago, I decided that something had to change. Given that I may be increasing my paid working hours again this year, whatever didn't work last year was unlikely to miraculously work this year.
So H, our new cleaner, is coming to see the house on Saturday (and possibly starting the job on Monday) and I have been working hard to create floor space so she can clean effectively and also a reasonable enough impression so she even agrees to clean the house. The rubbish bin is full, the recycling bin is full, I've been to the Sallies with more bags of goodies and there is another at the door for tomorrow, I've gifted more clothes and craft items to local acquaintances with younger children, and there is still more to do. Still, p-r-o-g-r-e-s-s is distinctly obvious.
I didn't quite fit in supercooking today as well as supercleaning, but I did buy up terakihi and turbot at the fish shop and no…
Sometimes future sewing is more gripping than current sewing. Like today, when I'm up to the collar stage on McCalls 6898 but windowshopping on the net instead.
I started with seeing this, Chocolat's Staple Skirt:
I like it a lot. Two problems:
1. I would get tomato sauce on that colour before the first day of wear was over.
2. $327 is a lot of money.
So I go looking for patterns to make my own, I have nothing to wear with this, and no fabric that is suitable. But that should not always be an impediment.
I look at Vogue 8499 and Vogue 8975 and I see this version of V8975 and it seems I could be back in dress land again:
I'm not sure I can make the dress in fabric as soft as the Chocolat one appears. Maybe I have to chop it off at the waist and put a wide elastic band in.
I went away for the weekend and suffered a traumatic incident.
It started off quite innocently. I was at my parents house, and they have properly (wastefully) good water pressure and gas hot water and so I had a very long shower and eventually followed that with borrowing Mum's hair dryer.
Ever since Hitchcock's shower scene, we have known that bathrooms are dangerous. Behind the clean white lines lurk danger, and yesterday was no exception. There should have been high pitched violins playing when I decided to step on Mum and Dad's scales.
The scales told a message I was not interested in hearing, using numbers I did not think should have relevance to me. I thought they might be broken, but my longsuffering and ever loving husband just talked supportively about exercise when I told him, which is not the same at all as declaring the scales corrupt and incorrect.
So it's no bloody wonder that I'm looking at dressing in stretchy jeggings and flowy merino tunics. …