So after a couple of days of contemplating my navel and thinking about the next step I had a plan. The eBay is going well - a steady trickle of items being bought and quiet a few more to be listed as and when I get the time. Now I need to start making and promoting what I have made.
I have imported some fabrics from America as they have a much better selection over there of the unusual - here it is all shabby chic which is great in its place but I am wanting something a bit more.....well not so damn English. So hands up anyone who knows of Alexander Henry???
A fantastic design house based in the Californian sunshine whom produces the best and wackiest fabrics I have seen for a long time - and to buy here is expensive. So I bit the bullet and ordered from the web - what a wonderful thing WWS is, anything, anytime of the day, a girls dream!
It arrived very swiftly and at not too great an expense - so I would urge anyone who has a hankering for the American cottons, get on the web and order.
Now of course I have about 60 yards of fabric in various different designs and am absolutely stumped as to what to do.............. Firstly - if you are a person who loves fabric you will understand this - I cannot bear the thought of cutting into it, and secondly I have got to wash and iron all of this before I can use it anyway! So is this divine inspiration or design desperation??!! But whatever I have quiet a bit of money sitting in this fabric and it needs to start paying for itself. So think of me over the next few weeks, washing and ironing in my slippers whilst watching Homes Under the Hammer or something equally as tragic to match my mood.
On a lighter note Eldest and I have been tackling her room which now being a fully fledged Tweenie is too pink and purple and terribly passe. The look now is Tiffany blue - is she showing signs of the expensive taste to come? - and soft sumptuous fabrics with a hint of sparkle. This is all to be twinned with minimalist white furniture from the insidious purveyor of utility furniture that is Ikea. I do love a good trip to Ikea though, just wish I had money to burn every time I went there......so many things, and always such a shock when you get to the till! you stand there slack jawed with amazement as you are told all those lovely little things that you have piled into your trolley gasping with amazement at the design ingenuity and their cheapness are now going to strip you of the best part of your monthly salary. Do you really need that oh so essential cat tent? or the wonderful thingy ma jig that holds stuff you never knew you had or needed?
The thing that really gets to me though - and this is the true curse of singledom - is when you get home you still have to screw, bang and bash it all into submission, and it never looks like it did in the show room. Especially true once you have put three wrong screws into a piece of plywood, bashed it a few times with the hammer for good measure and then realised the screw you actually needed you have used somewhere else. God only knows how men cope because I actually read through the instructions first, twice, and layout all the screws in order counting them to make sure I have the right amount. Men just pull it all out, throw the instructions away, rub their hands with glee and say well this looks easy. Not so bloody easy 6 hours later when you find them sobbing the corner mumbling something incoherent about alan keys and Phillips
heads...
I digress somewhat - we have assembled the aforementioned flat pack - all bar one small wooden drawer unit for her jewels and hair bobbles, it is currently in a pile in the corner of the room making me feel guilty every time I look at it. To think I have been defeated by a few pieces of ply and some tacks! I will do it but considering that I bought one of these to hold my threads and waited over a year to put it together there is not much hope in for it being finished any time soon.
So now all I need to find is a painter - and a cheap one at that. I used to love painting my homes. It was all tied into the novelty of having somewhere to call your own and paint it how you wanted. Now I look at all the gloss and wall space and feel actually physically ill at the thought of it. I painted her room originally one weekend when she went to Bristol and she came home thinking I was the best mummy for turning it into an pink and purple paradise. Then she proceeded to strip the lining paper of the wall - draw on it - etc and I lost the will to ever do anything like it again. Mother I am so sorry, I now know how you felt when you repeatedly told me not to stick things up with Blu tack as it would mark the walls!
A few years down the line I realise that she will not do this but posters are going to be put up over the freshly painted walls - I have already found one of the Jonas Brothers stuffed into a drawer like a guilty secret. When asked if she liked them the hormonal cloud fell rapidly and I was told 'No, don't be silly, boys are disgusting'..... me thinks the lady doth protest too much. So do I roll up my sleeves and spend a few days slaving over a hot paint brush, or pay some other poor sod to do it and then rant and rave over wasted money when she still goes ahead and puts some spotty skinny oik on her walls?
As for son, still being stupid! Please see attached photo.......................
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