Treasures Found

One thing about being back in the family home is the amount of treasures to rummage through and find. This time around the boys were thrilled to find this old train set. They've hit a Hornby obsession and we have neither the money nor the space to fit a set, so finding this little tiny track and train set hidden away from years gone by was a big hit for all of us.

And it might have just fueled a desire for a real Hornby set all of their own, but for now this is taking the edge off it. Just.

1970s redux

I think it is considered verifiable fact that the 1970s were a lost decade in terms of taste. I don't know why or how it all went so fugly; we could try to blame the Beatles and John Travolta; the Bee Gees don't come out of this one well, either to be honest. But fire retardant clothes that caused a static electrical sh*tstorm every time you moved your legs under the plastic duvet covers? Brown, orange and yellows. Together. Really? Wallpaper cats could climb up? Flares - FLARES, who in the name of God thought flares would be a good idea? Carpets on WALLS?? Platform shoes and glam rock and Gary Glitter and Jimmy Saville ... I think I've made my point.

I was reminding the other day in flash-back-tastic SwapShop Crackerjack technocolour of the hideousness of these years when I flicked through a vintage magazine stash I own. Words fail me. Just... well... look at what passes as acceptable photoshoots way back then...

And I had to live in that decade.

Thank God for punk, that's all I can say...

A Tale of Two Typewriters

On some days this is how I find the boys - tapping out love letters to their mama and relatives on their typewriters.

They plan what they are going to write and take their time (and much paper) getting it 'just right'.

To be honest, the eldest much prefers the PC or iPad (because it 'doesn't hurt the fingers and you change mistakes quicker'), but the midget - ah, anything that involves machinery, technology, an excuse to get under the hood to tinker with the inner workings, and he's happy. The letter is a bonus.















I envisage many more letters in our near future.

Good Mail Days

Oh, the possibilities...

Little things make me happy

I wasn't going to blog this. This is a gift from a reader, now friend, and I am never sure whether these things are mine to talk about publicly.

I am blessed with having found many friends through this space of ours, and some very kind souls send me things from time to time, and I usually keep those things private, because, well unless I have permission to blog it's kind of like a trust broken isn't it?

But sorry Debs. Had to blog this - because along with the endless gifts of others dotted around our home, whenever I spy this little bit of happy peeping out it lifts my spirits so much. It is simple, pretty, beautiful colours and a little tangible piece to say 'someone in the world really loves you'. And it's a chicken. I mean, come on. That appeals to my wannabe farmer girl in me.

If I've never thanked you publicly for any act of kindness anyone has shown me it isn't for want of thinking about you. Little acts of kindness keep me afloat in so many ways.

Thankyou. To all of you. You rock my world.

Knick Knacks

What do you call 'knick knacks'? Brikabrac? Ornaments? Crap that should be in landfill? Whatever it is called I sometimes look around and wonder where my minimalist aesthetic has gone to. I have knick knacks. Everywhere. Or, as they are sometimes called, dust magnets. Everywhere. And I'm getting to a point now where it is pointless to go thrifting, as I simply have no more room for any more forsaken souls. It is indeed a tragic state of affairs...





















And the sideboard, the shelves, the tops of radiators for crying out loud.... all are full to over-flowing with knick knacks. And don't even mention the Pyrex, oy vey. I did toy with the idea (after the shelf collapsed under their weight... oops) of doing a show and tell of my Pyrex obsession. But thought against it. Firstly, people may have assumed I was showing off (instead of crying for help), but secondly, I didn't want hard evidence of my pathological collection. It ain't just a river in Egypt. If I don't admit it, it's not real. We can still pretend it's a few pieces or a small collection, instead of the insane all-consuming, shelf-destroying compulsion it really is.

Yes. Let's just do that. And these dust-collecting knick knacks? That's a normal part of everyday life too, right?


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Thrifty Tuesday

A few thrifty finds in recent treasure-hunting days.



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My Sugar - Coated Whiney Post

Here is a saucer. It is old. It is vintage. It is made of china and has a flower on it. It is thrifted and I bought it on a whim to go with my pincushion cup which is also old and vintage and made of china which doesn't have a handle because I'm retarded and break everything and I broke this several years ago when I just started sewing and blogging and then put my pin cushion into the cup and thought I was a freaking genius. Yeah, that cup.

So this saucer goes with my pin cushion cup and yesterday I hot glued some really strong magnets underneath it. And now... it is a pin dish. Yeah. Stone cold genius. I bet you wish you were me.





Ta Da.

OK now for the whiney part of the post, these whines may or may not be related but if I don't rant here I may have to scratch someone's eyes out so why not let off steam here ::

*Deep breath*....

Firstly, I would like to tell all perfect wife, mother, crafter, business women who blog nothing but professional looking poster-boy shots of their children, baking and making that I actually think I hate you. Just stop it. Stop. Stop pretending, just do one post where you let us see how insane you are on the inside. Please. Stop also mentioning the social status of your partner as if you think this rubs off on you. It doesn't. It makes you look desperate. And I know you think your kids are cute, but some of us don't. In fact some of us take one look at your baby and wish someone had slapped the midwife, OK? Yes even the ones that look like a pin up of the Ayran race. No way your kids look that clean. Please tell me they eat worms and dirt like everyone else's and shove magnets up their nose. Not because it makes me feel better, but I just would like to think of you going insane as you try to keep them clean for the photoshoot of them picking a dandelion.

If you are also one of those bland robo-moms who preach your religion at me (even if it's my religion) all that goes double. Bite me.

Secondly, make a mental note - just because I don't bite back doesn't mean I've forgotten or forgiven your nastiness oh you of internet trolling/bitching society. You are ugly from the inside out and most of you are ugly from the outside in. In fact, one or two of you look as though you've fallen straight out of the Ugly Tree and hit every branch on the way down. You may wear your ignorance and bad manners like a badge of honour for all your thick cronies to pat you on the back as they bray like donkies waving their pitch-forks in the air like some demented comedy strip off The Simpsons but that doesn't make you any less repugnent. The fact that you cannot see how stupid you are shows how stupid you are.

Trolls who wear down bloggers and make them remove posts that most of us would like to read thankyouverymuch - one word : karma. What goes around comes around. I just wish I could be there with my camera when your's comes to bite you on the ass. It's coming. Oh yes. It really is.

Finally, but by no means least - I am going batsh*t crazy in this insanely small house. I can't do it anymore. I can't live in a house this small and pretend I'm happy. I'm not. Two small bedrooms and kitchen/diner/study area the size of my arm span and a bathroom you can place both palms on opposite walls. It's killing me. I have no space to move. Everything is piled up. If I want to open a freaking door in this house I have to move like three pieces of furniture and a mountain of laundry. If two or more people are in the same room we have to negotiate where we want to go and the other person has to move out of the way as we do-si-do around the freaking furniture sideways. I swear I scuttle everywhere. I'm surprised my children know how to walk straight. Even crabs don't scuttle as much as we have to. I know. I know I should be grateful - I know I could be living in a central reservation of a motorway in Calcutta eating Witchetty grubs and bark (yes I know Witchetty grubs aren't found in India. F*ck off) and compared to that scenario I am indeed rich and blessed. I know. OK, I know. And if one more person who lives in a proper sized house tells me to be grateful I think I may have to spray obscene remarks with weedkiller on their lawn. I know I should be grateful. So why am I instead stressed out and suffocating?

I am beyond trying to think postively. I am literally going insane here. I could pound both my fists into the ground in rage. I feel like taking a baseball bat and smashing every effing thing into dust and then jumping up and down on my husband's head. ... ... OK I feel like that anyway, I don't think that has anything to do with me going batsh*t crazy.

So. That in a nutshell is my angst this week. And probably the next too. If anyone can buy me a house or a valium I would be much obliged.


Do I feel better? .... a little. Sorry you had to read that.

NEXT!





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