12 Oct 2012

sweet dreams...

'sweet dreams' by goldlion

floral wreath original

Fairisle Knitted Blanke...

Woodland photography gr...

FALL SALE vintage 1930s...

Decorative Pillow -Herc...

Crocheted Lace Stone, B...

hand knit womens wool s...

Linen bed cover extra-w...

Apple shaped cushion/so...

bell jar

Vintage Crochet Bedspre...

Wooden Wick Candles tha...

Vintage doily upcycled ...

His and Hers Cat Nap Pi...

Original modern geometr...

Block Printed Leaf Quil...

Treasury tool supported by the dog house

One of the many, many, many things I took for granted pre-baby, back when I was a care-free, flipperty gibbet of a fool, is a good night's sleep. Eight long blissful hours of uninterrupted sleep... back then that was a functional necessity, now it's the freaking holy grail. 

I go to sleep, I wake up, I pee. 

I go back to sleep, I wake up, I tell my daughter that yes, she can have that phantom cake (she's a food related nightmare sufferer), I get into her Ikea child's bed with my feet poking through the metal bars at the bottom and I go back to sleep. 

I wake up with every bone in my body aching and my feet freezing, I go back into our room where our bed feels like heaven and I go back to sleep. 

I wake up, I pee... and repeat until morning.

How long can this go on for? I suspect that when Edie (and the next one) are sleeping through the night I'll be onto the menopause, or incontinence, or some such sleep wrecking thing and so I fear the golden years of sweet, delicious, uninterupted sleep are gone. And I need my shut eye, I mean I really need it. Baaaaaaad. 

But what can I do? Besides hiring a nanny for the next five years and hooking myself up to a catheter for the next five months bugger all. But that's ok, just like you accept that you'll spend more on your child's shoes than your whole wardrope you just get on with it. 

And so if I can't a good night's sleep I've decided I at least deserve a pretty/comfy/cosy one.

And so here are my Etsy picks for a beautiful bedroom, if not a beautiful night's sleep.

9 Oct 2012

bobble hats at the ready

It's getting cold around these here parts, but I've got a good layer of fat on me these days so bring it on, bitch.

Because I love... 

...sparkling frost, sky so blue it's in technicolour, red berries, fat robins, chai tea lattes, knee-length socks, starry nights, trees dressed up in red, orange and yellow, fairy lights, red noses, conkers, thinking about surprises, hoping for snow, warm feet by the fire, mulled wine, dressing up, sequins and glitter and bright red lippy, writing lists, making plans, time to dream, big fluffy jumpers and fingerless gloves, that warm glow, the ones you love all under the same blanket eating popcorn and watching films, breath you can see, long hot baths, books to read, chocolate to drink, hot water bottles, the best oranges, writing letters, magic, shopping bags filled with treats...

...yep, we're well into Autumnal territory and there's Winter on the horizon looking all sparkly and cosy. 'You-hoo, Winter! I've got my thermals ready, see you sooooon!'

4 Oct 2012

the white and grey gorilla coat

The white and grey gorilla coat was a matted, extremely hairy, '60s zip up number that I picked up in a vintage shop in the '90s. When I say 'vintage shop' I mean a place that had fold up shutters at the front instead of an actual wall and which was stuffed full of smelly junk. For some reason, even though it made me look like the Dulux Dog's flea-ridden hobo cousin I felt like the epitome of glamour when I wore it. I circled my eyes with lots of black eyeliner to complete the look, and I liked to construct a complicated hair-do that involved lots of back-combing, top-knotting and the pulling loose of lots of little stands of hair to create a 'through a hedge backwards' look. 

This was my '60's phase which I mixed with a healthy dose of the '70s and, looking back, I'd like to give myself a pat on the back for daring to look like a complete nutter on a daily basis. 

I went to London for the weekend with my art college class. My friend and I were expecting to be welcomed into the loving arms of the cosmopolitan London folk but instead confused tourists took photos of us, builders laughed at us, loudly singing 'Do the hippy, hippy, shake' and we generally stood out like sore thumbs. I remember it rained one day and my flares got soaked up to the knees with puddle water and my sodden gorilla coat smelt like it had been bought in a damp junk shop with no front wall. Which it had. Nowadays I forget how much flack kids take for daring to look different ('different', 'hilarious' and 'stupid' are interchangeable in the last statement). 

Back home in Wales were everyone was used to our junk shop sixties/seventies look we convinced ourselves that it was just London that didn't get us. In Cardiff we were fricking awesome. 

I had a pair of shiny satin flares that were the brightest red and had falling autumn leaves on them, which piled up, visually, at the bottom, at the most flarey bit. That's just a little indicator how wrong I got it sometimes. 

But on the other hand, sometimes I looked FAB. It was like going out in fancy dress every day, and having a ball. I wish I had half the guts now that I did back then. 

I'm gutted to say I haven't got many photos of me at that time. We didn't have mobile phones to take pics back then, and we were too busy having fun, making art and getting drunk. There are a few Polaroids about somewhere, and pics from disposable cameras... I shall have to hunt them out.