Book bags

Nope, not a cute pattern for a DIY bag, or a link to a great sale, but a description of the type of bags that are under my eyes. Book bags: caused by lack of sleep by reading.
I’ve always been a bookworm, but these days, the light is coming into my room VERY early in the morning, so I'm awake earlier (British blackout curtains? Humbug. Spain has bat cave blinds. Maybe I should start a business...). Add to that the page-turner mystery series I’ve picked up, and I’ve been doing so much reading that book-boa seems more like it.

For those of you in London, Shoe Lane Library is having a book sale that goes until the end of the week. The deal? Fill a bag of books for 2.50. A BAG!!! For TWO –FIFTY!!! Burrito, Chippy and I went on Tuesday – a restrained 8 for me (I’m moving, remember?), a solid 18 for Chippy and a whopping 25 for Burrito! Don’t worry, we left some for you, and new stock comes out every day, complete with nice, library-issued dust jackets.

Now, back to the series  - Maisie Dobbs, by Jacqueline Winspear, and Thora Gudmunsdottir, by Yrsa Sigurdardottir. Yes, there are two!

Maisie - I happened upon book five shortly after we arrived in London, and I loved it, but somehow just didn’t get around to reading any others until now. My favourite (so far) is the third book, Pardonable Lies:

·         our heroine gets off the Tube at Holborn (where I work)
·         she moves to Pimlico (not far from me)
·         the mystery involves a barrister (I work with barristers)
·         it’s set in the 30s (I love art deco and 30s fashion)
·         AND it’s a well-written page-turner

I got hooked on the Thora series whilst in Iceland (you can check that trip out here, here, here, here and here), and I am currently reading Ashes to Dust:

·         it’s set in modern day Iceland (I love Iceland)

·         it’s gruesomely thrilling (the first one narrowly escaped a night in the freezer)

·         the heroine is very intelligent and likable (I love a good heroine)

·         the translator is good (or so I suspect. It still flows, and I like the style.)

Yes, I have a detective 'stache bookmark

Warning, Thora is not for the faint of heart. The faint of heart should stick with Maisie.
Although there are more in my stack, my next book will not be a mystery – I'm already peering over my shoulder suspiciously, jumping at sirens, and checking the stairwell at work for bodies...

Further Proof that I am Going British

I spent the day at Kensington Palace, making bunting.

Before you ask why, I'll tell you: Bunting is cool, I wanted some to decorate at the wedding, I am old-fashioned, and I do love a good arts and crafts project. Combining the art of printing with the craft of Bunting-making seemed like the perfect way to spend day one of weekend three sans Tall Guy. And it was.

Did I mention today was a GORGEOUS day?

I arrived at the palace early, of course, to get a good seat and to miss nothing. Most of the group arrived early as well. Ah, like-minded learners. We had the Best Friends, the Friendly American, the Mother and Adult Daughter (times two), the Lone Granny, the Amateur Crafter, the Shy Foreigner, the Student, and me, the Bride. 

After helping ourselves to tea and biscuits (I had just had breakfast, but it is the done thing, and when in England...), we settled in to learn about bunting and printing from the fabulous and friendly artist Xtina Lamb.

Then it was time for project planning, fabric and template choosing (bunting can be much more than a string of triangles, but in the end that's what I opted for, double-sided for twice the fun), and some test printing. I mentioned  to the group I was making bunting for my wedding, and that I was hoping to find some purple and ivory fabrics. Instead of the North American competitiveness you encounter everywhere from school to the work place to fun weekend classes, I encountered genuine interest and helpfulness:

There was no mad rush to the fabric box, no elbows in your face as people searched for "the best". No one "just decided" to do an all-ivory banner, or hid all the purple stuff in their purse. In fact, Amateur Crafter offered me a lovely purple flowery print she'd found, and Lone Granny shared a piece of ivory satin-backed crepe. Oh British Decorum and Politeness, how I will miss you!

It took me over an hour to cut out all my triangles, and as I watched others in the group, I wished Besty or Tall Mom were there so we could tag-team. Both Mother and Adult Daughters and the Best Friends were working together to make bunting for garden or Jubilee street parties - one cutting, one printing, then one ironing and one sewing, making very festive pieces of bunting in record time.

a sneak peak

Slowly but surely, my pile of triangles grew, and by half past one I was ready to start printing: First, you secure the fabric, and then secure a screen over the fabric, so nothing will move. Then, you load up a paint scraper with ink, and run it over the screen. Next, you carefully take the screen off the fabric and hang the fabric to dry. A quick press with the iron sets the ink, and voila! A printed triangle, ready to be made into bunting. One down, 25 to go, plus two hearts. I didn't mind - in fact, I loved it! Hmm, a new career as a Printed Bunting Maker?

Once you've got a front and a back, you sew them together and press the seams. I'm still at this stage, since I spent the better part of the afternoon printing - my bunting is bilingual, but you'll have to wait until the wedding to read it! The next step is to sew or string them, and finally, embellish according to your imagination and taste! I'm thinking I'll stick on the pearls left over from the invite-venture, some embroidery, a few bows, and some bells, because I'm pretty sure the only thing more festive than bunting... is jingle-bunting.

You know you're going British when...

you dream about the Queen!
Yes folks, Her Royal Majesty appeared in my dream last night. I don’t know if it’s my upcoming workshops at Kensington Palace and the Tower of London, or reading her speech, the fact that I stalk take frequent walks past the palace, or my invitation to tea (for real!), but last night, there she was, in this splendid white dress and of course the blue sash (solid proof that she does wear things more than once).

This picture is from here

The Queen was in my mom’s house, and we were sitting on the couch together. She put her stocking feet onto the coffee table. And of course no one mentioned her feet on the table.

As I sat beside her, I was thinking not, “Why is the Queen in my mother’s house and why are her feet on the table?” but, “Hmm, my grandmother and the Queen look very much alike”.

My aunt fumbled with the camera - I think the batteries were weak - and before we could take a picture, the Queen had moved from the couch to the arm chair and alas, our cosy moment was not caught on film.

Oh well, there’s still a chance we’ll get a shot of the two of us sitting on a bench in the palace gardens, dipping biscuits into our tea.

The one on the last night

Last Friday, Tall Guy and I packed up the house, and Tall Guy moved back to Madrid!

Actually, that’s not quite accurate: Tall Guy packed the house. Before Friday. With inventories of everything that is in each box. He’s good. I'm not.

So really, he should have seen this coming… (check out the first minute or so).

A month ago, Tall Guy started asking me questions.

• Tall Guy: “Have you packed?”
• Me: “No, but don't worry worry, I’ll take care of it.”
• Tall Guy: infamous eyebrow raise.
• Me: “I will….”
• Tall Guy, eyebrow still raised: “Ok…”

Ten days ago, a reprise:

• Tall Guy: “Have you packed?”
• Me: “Well, my books are packed… the rest can wait. Don’t worry, it will get done.”
• Tall Guy: infamous eyebrow raise.
• Me: “It will…. Don’t nag me!”
• Tall Guy, eyebrow still raised: “Ok…”

The night before the movers came, on our way out for dinner:

• Me: “Hey, can you grab my coat? It’s in the right side of my closet”

• Tall Guy: “YOU. HAVEN’T. PACKED. Not a SINGLE thing! All of the boxes I made you are empty! ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Then he fainted. Not really, but it wouldn’t have surprised me one tiny bit if he had a mild stroke.

• Me: "Um, surprise? You're such a good packer..."
• Tall Guy: Eyebrow raise.
• Me: "I'll do it tonight..."

Hairy Birthday!

It was my birthday last month, and it was pretty fabulous. It started with a lovely breakfast at home with Tall Guy, complete with champagne and orange juice, and even a birthday card full of cash.

Happy Birthday to me!

Then I went for a peas-full lunch at Hummus Bros (hardy-har-har) with my lovely work friends, where we had free dessert (woohoo!), a post-work birthday cocktail with Chippy, after which I went to meet Tall Guy at the Ritz for the last sitting of afternoon tea. Yum! We sat next to the gold fountain, which is behind the palm tree and my giant hair. 

Somewhere in there I managed to get a birthday hair do. Tall Guy’s reaction when we found each other at the Ritz? “You look like the past!” I did. And it was awesome.

The Day of Food was followed by Friday night on the town, complete with cupcakes (courtesy of Cupcake, of course,  who is the best cupcake maker* in the world), a massage, a parade of sparklers, a VIP lounge and a novelty saxophonist, fab hair still intact at 3a.m, thank you very much.

Contrary to popular belief, Tall Girl does sometimes let her hair down (although in this case, it was up, and thus only down metaphorically).

Thanks, Tall Guy and Ladies, for making the turning of the year an unforgettable one!

*If you're in the London area and need/want cupcakes, check out Cuppidy Cakes on Facebook, or click here. YUM!!!