Hippy chic

I've finally finished the bag I've been crocheting and am well pleased with it. I'm off to Edinburgh College of Art for a week soon to play at being a student and it'll be just the job.

The chair it is lying on is a Victorian nursing chair that has come down through my family. The story is that one of my relatives was in service in Newfaugn Isle. When the house was broken up they were allowed to choose something to take as a memento. I've searched online using every spelling I can think of but can't find any reference to this fine establishment. Guess it'll have to say in the realms of legend. Nice chair though.

Cross channel what now?

No matter how balmy the climate, a canny Scot never removes her cardi.

Boys and their toys

What is it with men and machinery? At a local vintage tractor fair these lovingly restored engines chug away in the middle of a field going nowhere and doing nothing expect making that kapocecketta, kapocketta noise which would appear to be enough. So what next? You build it a little buggy with a sun shade or give it some rhubarb to chop. Well at least that makes sense. About as much sense as wrapping bits of old broken bottle in wire I guess.....each to his own.

A touch of lace makes hearts race - as my granny used to say

I found this strange bent piece of glass recently and have encased it in wire needlelace. Goodness only knows what it was in its previous bottle life.
Note the strong sunshine. This is a bizarre phenomenon in Scotland. I've already wore both my summer tops. What happens now?

More beads Mrs McGlumpher?

Seaglass workshop was fine apart from the old chestnut of participants disrespecting yours materials. I have no sympathy for myself because I know the solution. You give your students only what you want them to have. End of problem. However the heat must have affected me last night and I did leave large reels of wire lying on the table which were duly yomped into. I don't even mind that if people are making things but to cut it and twist it and discard it really annoys me. I handed a little rats nets back to one offender, smiling sweetly all the while and told her she would have to make something lovely with that before she left. She got the message and took it home with her which at least removed it from my line of vision.

This problem is of my own making. I'll have to cost everything probably and only gamble with what I can afford to loose. Isn't that the secret of the stock market after all?

Marine gems

I have been having a bit of a practice tonight making sea glass jewellery because I have workshop tomorrow and I haven't done it for a while. Added a bit of crochet scrumble with beads which I thought looked quite impressive for not very much effort. A bit of twisted wire makes a nice torque. Feeling reasonably confident that all will be well.

...and the winner is...

This is the prize winning baby. Not what I had expected but it's quite a weird exhibition with a preference for collage. My favourite piece was ballpoint pen on the back of failed lottery tickets. Maybe 75 wee sketches all framed up as one. Could have looked at it for hours. There were a couple of other stitchy pieces too. Some nice big landscapes with odd bits of weaving embedded in the paint. I'm always a bit afraid of colour so the next target I'm setting myself is to BE BOLD.

I have a large collection of under the bed life drawing. I don't mean drawings of unseemly activity that takes places under the bed (too dusty for that). I mean pieces currently in storage that I intend to stitch into and create a bodily landscape...perhaps. A brightly coloured bodyscape. You read it here first!

Because this is the 10th anniversary of this particular exhibition they hung the rejects as well in the shed next door. A kind of smelly, badly lit salon de refuse but it has a kind of kudos all its own. A feeling of here I am, warts and all. When they were presenting me with my cheque they forgot my name allegedly (what it is to be famous) and forced me to yoohoo from the crowd. As I walked to collect my prize they asked me how it felt to be (half) rejected, just in case I was beginning to believe my own publicity.

What to do with the money? I feel I should buy art of course but most of the pieces I liked were rather out of my price range. I always go back in about 10 days time when the agricultural show in the field next door persuades a reluctant dearly beloved to accompany me. Perhaps I'll let him choose....which means we'll come home with a tractor engine.

Surprise Prize

I had a very surprising phone call this afternoon telling me that my baby had won a prize in the open art exhibition. I believe it's a prize sponsored by a packaging manufacturer but don't think this is of any particular significance. I don't know which baby is the lucky winner and which the reject. I'll find out tomorrow night but I suspect they've chosen the more traditional of the two. Their reasoning for not hanging both is that they are too similar. The only solution I can think of is different fathers.

Separated at birth

Only one of my babies has been accepted for the one Art exhibition. This was a scenario I didn't envisage! It's an old selling dodge, present your customer with two so that the choice is which one instead of whether or not to buy. But this was not supposed to be a choice situation, this was supposed to be a PAIR situation. A wise woman once told me to give them one to select and one to reject. Oh well, I guess she was right.

Konichiwah

I love Noro yarns. They are reassuringly expensive and just a delight to work with. I do however feel racked with guilt. Here I am, in the heart of Scottish sheep country, getting crafty with yarn imported from Japan. Sinfull, wouldn't you agree?

On reflection, if I reviewed my list of past crimes and misdemeanors probably I could find something a lot more worthy of my guilt, therefore allowing me to crochet on with a clear conscience.

Festival schmestival!

We made a bit of a whoopsie with our awfully big adventure this week by missing out on the Tarbert Food Festival. We've never been aware of it before and were only made aware of it by the Scottish guys as the table next to us casually tormenting the English guys at the table next to them. Something to do with football? Don't ask me. They were all nursing Tarbert Food Festival hangovers from the night before.

Anyway, annoyingly enough we were relatively close to the festivities as the crow sails enjoying a home made lasagne in the Kames Hotel, Tighnabruaich. Ah well, there's always next year.