 This week my wonderful wife Lisa and I marked 6 months since the magnificent day when we - surrounded by the people we adore - publicly declared our love, making our wedding vows to each other with all the gravity they deserve. Yet as we sit here, still radiating in the joy of this milestone event, it's impossible for me to ignore the pathetic state-of-affairs deeming it illegal for couples like Lisa and I to be married in the country I am ordinarily so proud to call home. I mean, come on.
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 Happy Valentine's Day lovely person.
I would absolutely hate Valentine's Day if I wasn't such a soppy sucker. V Day is really just an an excuse to conduct myself with the kind of dreamy suggestiveness I wish I had the stamina to pull off every day (most days I fail even to shower). Lisa and I have a couple of traditions when observing this, the most cringey of holidays...  Skill level: Beginner |
 | Anyone following this blog will already appreciate it is much less about the actual function of sewing and a whole lot more about me trying my hand at something new. To put it in Microsoft Word terms, you could ‘find and replace’ the term “sewing” with pretty much any pursuit imaginable and (save for the bits about interfacing, selvedges and twin needles) the posts would make something resembling near-perfect sense (likely even more in some cases. Especially if the word was "jelly-wrestling"). So, why sewing? |
Vintage polka-dot sheer dress, purchased for USD$50 in NYC July 2014.
In my early teenage years I was crazy for vintage shopping. Only it had a much more glamorous name then: "scrounging for hours at op-shops*, markets and garage sales* for second-hand frocks, shoes and skirts that weren't damaged nor resembled the attire of an unfortunate 80s bridesmaid". By the mid-00s, however, vintage shopping in Australia had basically gone to the dogs. Let me explain:
In case the heading off this website didn't make it excruciatingly obvious: I have a big bum. The thing about big bums is they tend to be bolstered by big thighs, which are in turn bolstered by big calves and so on and so forth. Unless of course you are like my friend Laureen and your hypnotic, full booty is balanced upon equally delicious long legs. But we're not talking about her.
I can only assume there are thousands of unopened letters to publishers of sewing books from angry readers demanding to be refunded for the printing cost of the napkin “pattern” they just discovered splayed across pages 6 and 7 of their latest purchase. I am sorry if you yourself have published an annotated collection of summative essays detailing the subtle art of sewing squares, but for everyone else, I think you’d appreciate that a 2-page illustrated napkin guide is kind of overkill.
Recently my quintessentially lovable friend Caroline dropped the ultimate bombshell for any aspiring-but-still-at-the-completely-hopeless-stage seamstress. You see, Caroline is getting married. In fact, she is marrying a Brazilian in Brazil at the height of the Brazilian summer. Devastatingly I am unable to be there so, of course, I would love to do something to be involved in the day in my own little way. Despite all of this, nothing prepares you for that text: “I’ve got an idea for a wedding dress…” *gulp*
It occurred to me in the shower the other day (ah, the shower – the source of all thoughts worth thinking) that my life, or rather, my online/shared/documented life was very much like one of those barely memorable home auction shows from the early-90s. You know the ones? Location, Location, Homes Under the Hammer, Flog My Joint Because I can’t bare the Sight of It for One More Minute, that sort of thing. These shows were essentially edited in the same (apparently successful) formulaic manner:
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The detail...
A big dollop of love from my finger tips to your screen (I promise that's not as creepy as it sounds). xx
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