Tie Dying

One thing that’s always bugged me about moving to be with Rus is that it had been made clear that we weren’t to stop at the family home. I get that they want to teach their children independence and that’s great, no one wants a mummy’s boy as a fiance, but given our situation  – and the fact that I can’t work for the first 6-12 months you’d think we’d have some slack cut.

Well planets aligned, pennies dropped and the trigger was pulled because suddenly it’s been deemed a good idea by the parents. We’ve been given the front of the house for ourselves, rent free, so we can save for a deposit on a house. The only down side is that all my kitchen nicknacks will collect dust for another year or two.

Basically we will be living in Rus’ room, his brother will move out of the room next door giving us a living room. The two are connected by a balcony and have a separate bathroom. I have been racking my brains for how I can turn this boy-infested area into a nice place. It’s all very functional at the moment but lacking any soul. Rus uses his shelves to store his tools.

I want girlie, relaxing but not shameful for a man to live in. My current room is like the love child of urban outfitters and laura ashley. I can only take a few small bits over with me and while I’ve been looking forward to the project of redesigning a room I’ve been struggling for ideas. And of course Rus is Switzerland.

Then, the other day I saw an Etsy tweet about dip-dying shoes and just had to try it out. It did not work as planned, instead of violet fading-through-lilac-to-white pumps I have violet pumps. While they were stewing and I was sulking I tied a couple of knots in an old t-shirt and through it in the bucket too.

OMGWOW.

I’ve loved tie dye for a while and it has been slowly taking over my wardrobe. I cannot believe I’ve foolishly been buying what I could so easily make. I plan to practice my skills until I feel competent enough to make some brilliant bedding for my new home and I’m hoping the rest will all fall into place.

Any one have any tips?

Cupcakes please.

I have an unhealthy obsession with cake. I cannot remember a time when I haven’t loved it or wanted that extra slice. Blame it on my mum buying me cakes as treats, blame it on my grandma’s chocolate cake, blame it on my sweet tooth. I really couldn’t tell you where it originally stemmed from or why I haven’t the will power to eat the apple instead. I’ll often forget I’ve eaten some until I see the wrapper in the bin. And don’t get me started on the thrill of Asda’s bargain bin birthday cakes. Yes I have shared a serves-16 cakes with only myself and a Hugh Grant film on more than one occasion.
On our first date Rus marvelled as I inhaled a slice of Cheesecake Factory cheesecake in ten minutes after having already eaten one of their huge meals.

It’s a bit of an on going joke with everyone that I’m a fat girl trapped in skinny jeans but I really was doing my best to pick healthily.
Then about, what four years ago? the cupcake craze hit. Suddenly I didn’t have to buy an entire cake! I could easily get an individually sized sugar rush from pretty much anywhere. My sister and I have always enjoyed baking and now there’s so many cake cook books around my blood sugar cannot maintain itself.

So when I wanted to start playing with Fimo – a product that you have to set by oven baking, I really had no choice but to combine it with my other well loved baked good. Yes, the cupcake.

I’ve made up a little army, sprinkled some with glitter, finished them all with a love heart cherry and smiley face then attached them onto a keychain/phone charm. I absolutely love them, they’ve been a success at craft fairs and now I’ve put them in my Etsy store.

I’ll be honest, I’m struggling with my online motivation. I much prefer selling to people face to face, but 20c a listing is stupid to turn down!

Check them out here. And any tips on good online sites to use to promote or sell would be much appreciated! I’m really wanting to get into the online blogging community, any advice on doing so would be great.

Good Ol’ Gramps.

When I was nearly three years old my sister was born.
She was going to be called Gemma and she was going to be my best friend. I would hand down my old pink dresses to her when they no longer fitted me, I would teach her how to organise teddy bears and arrange Barbie’s furniture so it was just right. We’d take ballet classes together, watch Disney films and perfect the art of glitter painting.

Only my parents decided that Gemma wasn’t a suitable name for the ginger monster that was born in place of my sister and went with “Kate” instead.

From day one she was a nightmare – ginger hair and pink clothes? Not a winning combination. She wouldn’t share her dummys with me [a favourite friend that I had been told I was too old for], there’s actually a video of her poking me in the eye when she spits hers out and I borrow it for a second.

As we got older Kate only got worse. She, not only favoured Sindy over Barbie in the rare event that she wanted to play with a doll, but she didn’t even keep her in matching shoes! She used this mismatched doll to terrorise my nicely organised doll house. She gave my My Little Pony a hair cut, fed my doll plasticine and preferred Cartoon Network to Nickelodeon.

And yet somehow she’s my favourite person in the world. Even when she’s creeping into my room at night in a Joey Jordison mask and scaring the living crap out of me I would not change her for Gemma.

Instead of bonding over bear arrangement or ballet classes we made up stupid games that combined both our interests, I’d stay up late telling her stories and she’d patch my knees up when I fell off my bike. Again.

We ended up being what the other needed most and having a live in best friend was always a brilliant thing. Even if our teens were a out and out prank war.

Throughout all my planning to move to California it’s always in the back of my mind that Kate won’t be there and who the hell am I going to gossip and bitch with if I don’t have her?
I know it’s the best thing for me and Rus now but I am hoping and [secretly] planning to move back to the UK when I’m older so me and Kate can be old ladies together.

The most heartbreaking news came about 6 months ago when she admitted she would not be able to afford to come to the wedding. I was more than a little upset and, selfishly, made her feel guilty for it. I got over it, I know it’s all part of the choice I have made. But when my Grandad [or Gramps as Kate infuriatingly calls him] announced that it was ludicrous that Kate would not be attending my wedding and insisted on paying for her trip I was over the moon.

Planning the wedding has taken on a whole new level of excitement now! Of course she’s taking over slightly but I am too happy to care that I’ve had to trae the 5* venetian for the shabbier Flamingo hotel as she deems it “more Vegasy”.

Tea time.

I did a cross stitch keyring for my dad one Father’s Day when I was a young whipper snapper. My mum, Joanie, would thread the needle, do my first few stitches and patiently repeat instructions as I pricked my finger and miscounted stitches. The keyring took months, in fact I have a feeling it ended up being gifted for Xmas and was only completed because Joanie insisted I finish something I started.
After putting my needle down I never felt the urge to pick it up again.
Until five days ago when I saw a pattern in my mum’s latest edition of Craftseller. I threw aside all my bad feelings for cross stitching and tentatively asked Joanie to reteach me the basics. Four days later and I was finished, I don’t know who was more impressed with the result.

I’m currently obsessed with my future kitchen, I’ve been buying nicknacks and trinkets, sending Rus to ikea to get glasses in case they’re discontinued before my next trip to the states and wistfully flipping through home magazines day dreaming about counters. I plan for my kitchen, nay my entire apartment, to be so crammed with English themed bits that I cannot get homesick and no Californian will think me American.
I’m not the biggest tea drinker but since starting my current job a year ago I have slowly been converted by my co-workers – a team of middle class, middle aged, english women. I get it now, tea is the excuse to gossip and as a result I average about 4 cups a day. Strong, milk, sugar… in case you’re putting the kettle on.
Every day when I get in from work, wake up in a morning or am at a loose end, Joanie and I will sit in the kitchen, drink tea and chat (and eat a slice or three of cake). It’s something I’m going to miss dearly. This quintessentially English piece will always bring back those lovely memories of biscuits, laughter and burnt tongues from eager sipping.

If you would like this in your kitchen too, and who wouldn’t, click here.