Made a corsage

I had to pose this in the room which hasn't been decorated yet because of Partner and his boxes

Out of scraps. I literally took these bits of scarves out of the bin* and made it with them (it's all glamour here).

I may make one and pin it to my top I wear to go running

In one way I think, yay corsage, in another way I think, there is nothing I can ever feel alright about throwing away because I can find things to make out of the most desperately unpromising things. They will find me one day buried underneath a stack of scraps and mangled fat quarters and say, why did she keep all this rubbish, and then they will find my blog and the strange compulsion will be understood.

* It is a clean bin. It is just where I put scraps when I am sewing!

Of crumbles and cushions

I have been making cushions from vintage ties and scarves today.

I know this is a lot to ask but I need you to imagine that chair is a Louis Ghost

Old ties and scarves often have holes in them – ties wear out at the sides and scarves get pin prick holes (possibly from brooches actually. Now that has given me an idea, I must show you my brooch collection sometime), so, the nice thing about making cushion covers is, you can just lop off the bits with the holes, patchwork it all together and there we are, frankencushions from eras when we were Not Afraid Of Colour. I love a geometric pattern, me. The scarf ones are just sewn together, the tie ones are machine quilted and I am experimenting with different quilting patterns on the different ties. The downside of this is that the sewing room is covered, yes, covered in tie scraps and is making me twitchy. So I am having a break to share my crumble recipe with you.

Look, it was dark, I had to balance it under the halogen light

Rhubarb is coming into season at the moment for we in the UK, so you will be able to pick it up cheaply at markets and greengrocers, and if you live in one of the towns which has been taken over by the Great Beast Tesco and you don’t have a market then you can get it from the supermarket as well (I do find fruit much, much cheaper and better from the market, though, if you are lucky and have got one). The nice thing about rhubarb crumble is it does not require that you engage your brain to cook it, indeed a brain is probably a disadvantage, which is perfect for me as by the time I am thinking about cooking pudding I am usually fit for nothing more than slumping in front of the tv sniffling at the poor abandoned puppies on Animal Cops Houston and reading Gardeners' World magazine.

Rhubarb Crumble, serves about 3-4 people

For the fruit layer:
1 lb (about 500g) rhubarb
about 1.5/ 2 oz sugar.

Cut the rhubarb stalks (not the leaves) up into small chunks. Put them in a pan with the sugar (you can use any kind of sugar, go and find something that needs using up in the back of the cupboard!), and cook partly covered over a low heat until the rhubarb is soft enough to eat (about 15-20 mins). In my experience rhubarb stays hard until you have given up, then turns into mush within 5 seconds, if this happens don’t worry, you can have rhubarb mush crumble, it will taste the same. Remove from heat and leave to cool while you do the topping.

Topping:
6 oz plain flour, OR wholemeal flour, OR half and half flour and porridge oats
2.5 (or thereabouts) oz butter/ margarine
3 oz sugar (not icing sugar, something a bit crunchy).

Rub the butter or margarine into the flour. If you have a toddler, dog, cat or anything that may need physical intervention, he/ she/ it will need it while you have your hands covered in butter. Or the phone will ring. Anyway, rub it in as best you can, then stir the sugar through. Put the fruit into a pyrex or ceramic dish (or something similar), and spread the topping over it. Cook at 180 degrees C for about 40 minutes until it looks slightly browned on top (you can leave it for longer if you need to). Eat with cream. (Also, crumble is an excellent vegan pudding, because you can make it with margarine, and if you make the topping with half oats I love it with Oatly).

In my experience men love crumble. Men love crumble, women love brownies, however we cannot base a theory of gender preference on my acquaintance and also don’t go down the pleasing men route as it does not lead to happiness for anyone.

Eaten and gone

Keith, who provided coffee and distraction during a bad dream that lasted for four years, says you can also make savoury crumble. This seems strange and wrong to me, but, apparently you do this by cooking any veg, plus onion and garlic, in a white sauce, then putting on the crumble topping (presumably without sugar) and cooking in the same way. I have a swede in the veg box that I don’t know what to do with so perhaps this is my opportunity, I may try it and report back.

Have I sold you on crumble or do you have a more exciting rhubarb recipe you would like to share? In which case do feel free because I am very fond of rhubarb and will be all (virtual) ears.

Why tedium is good for you

I’m making a custom reconstructed tie skirt for someone. I’m almost all the way through piecing the top. (I’m sorry for the lack of light. Please imagine when looking at these photos that they are a bit lighter, even if you have to squint a bit, because if I got the laptop out and adjusted the colour balance it would take me much longer and I might sound a tiny bit grumpy).

Ties and pink woodchip! I don't know why they haven't asked me to be on Kirstie's Homemade Home

I hit tie pay dirt with this skirt. I found ties, in the right colours, in substantial silk, for reasonable prices, locally. How often does that happen? It doesn’t happen. I love how they’re going together, and I hope the recipient likes it.

There. Now you can see a bit better

I’ve been thinking, and I think the thing I like about any kind of patchwork is the balance between creativity and process: the fun of putting the colours together, the – I hesitate to say, tedium, but you know what I mean, of sewing it all together, slowly, piece by piece. It’s like a lesson in life: inspiration only gets you so far, and the rest is dogged sewing, sewing, sewing and pressing seams open. (Do you know what you could do, actually, though? You could make patchwork out of everyday life. You could go about combining random things that were interesting colours, photographing them quickly, and then letting them go on their way. So for instance, you could put some lemons next to something cobalt blue, or arrange tomatoes on green grass (in the summer), surround a ginger dog with oranges, or something like that. I may resurrect my Guerrilla Patchwork idea in a new way!).

Sewing in inadequate light, how Dickensian. I'm poor but I'm honest, Guv'nor

I’m sewing while listening to Imagine and pondering How Do You Sleep. How could anyone be so rude about the man who gave us The Frog Chorus? Incomprehensible. And I was admiring this video earlier. This is the thing: I’m not surprised it likes it (says she carefully), because cats are, well, they are interesting creatures. I’m just surprised how they found out about it to start with. I will definitely not be doing this to my Aunty Kath’s Big Hairy Ginger AKA Beowulf when I see him over Christmas, though, because I’m not up to date on my tetanus shots and I understand Casualty on New Year’s Eve is not that much fun.

She that holds the diamond necklace dearer than the golden ring/ She that finds a winter sunset fairer than a morn of spring.

Why do I find a pile of scraps like this, that any sensible person would throw out

more inspiring than nice new fabric? I'm looking at this and wondering if there is any way I can patchwork them into a skirt. I admit it might be a challenge but I bet I can do it. In fact I bet I can do it quicker than I can thread the serger (I'm cautiously declaring that serger a success. Cautiously.) I'm also looking at these (note the careful laying out on the bed – you can tell this is not my bed. If it was my bed they would all be thrown in a heap on the middle)

and thinking what I can do with them. I found this blog recently which has some fascinating things people have used ties for, I love the ones incorporated into furniture. I'm thinking I will open them out, iron them, and go from there. We're going to go on holiday next week and I can see I'm going to drive Partner mad* combing the charity shops of North Norfolk looking for bits of unloved fabric that I can make into things. If anyone reading this has ever been to North Norfolk, isn't it lovely? You know how people on travel shows say everything is 'unspoilt' even when they're standing outside McDonalds next to a four lane bypass? North Norfolk really is unspoilt.

* Actually I'm doing Partner a disservice here as he loves poking round charity shops and has never misbehaved. However. Last year we were in Primark in Manchester (and you can guess my views on Primark but in my defence we were walking through to get to somewhere else) and there was a display of some actually rather attractive Balmain-esque military jackets. I heard the siren call of a convincing knock-off. I paused. I looked at the jackets. 'Look at these' I said, thoughtfully, to partner. I lifted one up from the rail to look at it more closely. Note: I lifted the first jacket from the rail to look at it. I did not look at the size. Partner did, however. 'Size 10?' he said, in a loud voice which carried through the shop as Partner is used to giving lectures and not used to talking in hushed tones in temples of consumerism. 'You'll never get in a size 10!' I was annoyed, obviously, although this was patently true and I hadn't been intending to. 'Actually I might' I hissed at him. 'Rubbish!' he said, even louder. 'You'd have no chance of getting in that. Look at the size of your chest.' Half of Manchester turned round to look at the size of my chest. Partner is now banned from clothes shopping but in Oxfam etc they have books and he can look at those. It is a win-win. Look out, charity shops of North Norfolk. We are coming.