Small World

I know, it’s a cliché.  But sometimes, like yesterday, it’s uncannily accurate.

Yesterday morning, I jumped on a train bound for London, to meet five friends from my online textile group, the Artful Dodgers, to visit the Quilt exhibition at the V & A. Fellow Dodger Maggie got on in Swindon and having made one surprise encounter with a colleague of hers on the train, we met Sue as planned on Paddington station.

Now we were three.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been trying to hook up with my Aussie friend Sandy, who’s been flitting here and there across the UK, somehow never staying still for long enough for me to catch her.  But we’ve kept in txt touch and yesterday morning, I txted her to say “I’m in London today…meeting friends at the V & A”

You’ve guessed…she txted back to say “Wooohooo, so am I!”

 

After a brief stop to take photos in the courtyard  we settled down to eat cake and enjoy our surroundings in the cafe for a while.  Lynn-with-no-blog arrived and we met up with Helen and mini-Dodger Richard before going into the Quilts.

No photos in there, of course, but as you will imagine, plenty of opinions, shared thoughts, close looks, ideas and inspiration.  A silent, illicit txt from home brought good news* and two hours later, we emerged from the show feeling that we’d had more than our money’s worth from our tickets.

Whilst in the shop, another txt message…Where was I?  Sandy had arrived and was spotted across the merchandise!  After brief introductions all round, more cake was needed.

 

It was over a pot of tea that the loose ends of the day all tied up.  Not only did Sandy’s friend Clare share so many interests and enthusiasms with us, as we chatted we realised one further uncanny coincidence.

When I was in Thirsk recently, assessing embroidery, the woman who made all the arrangements and whose textile talents I’d so admired was none other than Clare’s friend Sue.  Who would have guessed that a passing mention of the WI would lead to the discovery that, of 200 000 members, we were talking about the same person.

Spooky or what?

Sandy and Clare returned to the Quilt show whilst we Dodgers went to take the now traditional group photograph in the loo, where we could frame ourselves in the mirror with the beautiful tiled surround.

Here are the tiles.  The Dodgers, of course, are too shy to appear in public.

*  Good news came in the form of a potential buyer for Mummy’s bungalow, after more than two years on the market.  Fingers crossed.

Silents

At last, the temperatures have begun to creep up a little and Birmingham was looking splendid in the sunshine when we pottered about before the show.

What a difference a bit of sunshine makes.  It felt as though everyone was shaking off their winter woollies and out in the fresh air.  Of course, some were taking off more layers than were advisable – or perhaps I’m just getting old!

We were there to watch two silent movies with live orchestra accompaniment from the CBSO. We arrived early to take in the pre-concert discussion with Carl Davis, the composer and conductor and joined a sell out audience to watch two masterpieces.

First up was Harold Lloyd in The Eastern Westerner.  Just as on last year’s silent movie evening, we were bowled over by the marvellous comedy action, the timing and the sheer bravado in some of the stunts which would have been remarkable even taking in some of today’s technology.  Knowing they were achieved with the minimum film trickery left us quite breathless! 

The other showing was Charlie Chaplin’s The Gold Rush.  I can’t say I’ve ever been a real fan of Charlie Chaplin’s work, much preferring the quicker, slicker Harold Lloyd and Buster Keaton.  But, this showing was terrific and having learned about the cooked shoe scene from Michael Portillo recently, I was amused to see it for real.

(The boots were made from Pontefract Liquorice)

As always, the acting is truly magnificent, the emotions are played for all they are worth and the eyes tell the whole story.

We loved it.

Our plans were to continue north to join friends in St Annes for a concert by the Lytham St Annes Choral Society of which our friend Olga is a member.  But a walk around Birmingham on Saturday morning before tackling the M6 led us past Harvey Nichols where we stood for a while and enjoyed the window displays.  All the tropically themed arrangements were created from recycled materials and these cheetahs in particular caught my eye.

Here are the paws of the sitting cat.  Clever, eh?

And how about this fine zebra, made from papier mache, strips of fabric and textile trimmings?

Our journey was thankfully uneventful, the concert memorable for all the right reasons and the company of our friends as delightful as always.  Sorry though we were to have to leave after breakfast on Sunday, it was for a good reason.

The Boy is home from the campaign trail for a day or two.

St George’s Day

I was listening to a radio discussion about patron saints recently, pricking my ears up when someone proposed that there could be a more appropriate patron saint of England than St George.  But as is the way with listening to the radio on a car journey, I missed the start of the argument, when the reasons why good old St George will no longer do were stated and switched off before the end as well.  Though I intended to go online and listen again, life somehow moved on and I forgot all about it.

Googling this morning, to find the original programme, I find that a discussion has taken place and listeners have voted in favour of St Alban (who is not so easy to google and is very much overshadowed by the eponymous city)

But see what happens when my back is turned?  All of those stories of a brave knight in shining armour told at Brownie pack meetings, images of dragons and white flags with red crosses – all could be overturned in the wink of an eye.

I doubt it.

For now, enjoy this clipping from today’s paper to celebrate St George’s Day which amused me this morning.  I had fun spotting as many features associated with England as I could: any advance on 17 18?

For positively the last time

I will post photos of this finished (yay!) quilt.

It’s had quite enough exposure, but I am grateful to everyone for the encouragement, helpful advice and kind comments without which I feel sure it would have still been lingering there on my table.

I’m often asked the question “why do you blog?” and I think the answer lies with my quilt.  I blog to keep a record of what I’m doing, and of what I’ve done, mostly for my own personal use, but in sharing good intentions with friends I can also set myself up with a challenge.  Sometimes, I deliberately post the start of a project, because sooner or later, someone will ask “whatever happened to…?” and I will respond in the same way I used to respond when my Mum asked the same question ;-)  Yes, I’ll sigh, roll my eyes a bit and then succumb to the kindly shove and do something about it.

I will never admit to having stuffed “that yellow dress” down at the back of the wardrobe or to cutting it up for some weird project or other.  But I might turn a delicate shade of pink and look a bit shifty…

For my next trick

I plan to get out the old “tricotin” again.  Maybe you can remember the loopy scarf I knitted last year?  Well, last week, whilst at Kelmscott Manor, Mary, Joanna and I stalked a French woman who was wearing this

I recognised the style immediately and began to mutter La Droguerie in a way which gave them some concern.  When we got home, I opened one of my pattern books and Voilà! there was the pattern.

In French.  Bien sûr.

Parlons-nous francais?  Un petit peu.  Fortunately there’s also a good, clear diagram.

So, we have yarn (Debbie Bliss 4ply Rialto), we have a working tricotin and later, we may have lift off.

There.  I’m committed now, aren’t I?

Almost there

Time to clear the decks.  There’s only so much crawling about on the floor I can do.

With the enemy laid out on the table, it was time to beat it into submission with a few carefully placed pins and a steam iron.

The instrument tray was assembled, with new needles and sharp scissors.  A last minute change of plan replaced the orange thread on the spool with a brighter, shinier cotton perle which had a little more zing.

In no time at all, the first of 56 buttons was stitched in place.  the other 55 followed on and were all done by lunchtime.

But it didn’t seem to be enough.  I felt further work was needed to join the layers together and, though I’ve shown you the corners which look like the one above, for every one that looks like this, there is another which is more like

this.

I’d already been though the cream button collection in my stash and knew I didn’t have enough for the centre of each pieced square.  Anyway, Marianne’s wise advice about overuse of buttons was in my mind as inspiration struck.

I tied the centre of each pieced square together using the orange thread and felt pleased with the look.

What’s more, a multitude of quilting sins are concealed in those little ties.  But hey, who’s going to be looking?  This is no competition quilt for sure.

By the end of the afternoon, all is tied, the edges trimmed and tacked in place ready for binding.  I’ve taken the precaution of applying a tiny spot of fraycheck in the centre of each knot too, just in case.  All the pins are out and it’s holding together nicely.

So am I.