I'm making some embroidered vintage pillowcases for the market. These are called "Lover's Tiff' inspired by a barney with the Frenchman. I'm also doing some with lover's poetry on them, will show you these when I can be motivated to photograph them.

How was your weekend? Mine was splendid, I ran sack races, three-legged races and egg and spoon races at the small's school fete and then ate an indecent amount of ice cream.

xxx

'Scuse the bad photo and the overt Christmas references in early November but I'm doing stuff for a Christmas market hence the wreath and red-headed angels. Am not entirely convinced by this so it might be back to the drawing board. What are your thoughts? Heading too far down the path of hyper-kitsch?

The players are here with Mme. Kootoyoo. xx

No apologies for the racy title. If we were honest that's what most Canberran are thinking in the middle of our dry, hot summers. How little can I wear without being nabbed for indecency? For this reason I OBJECT to paying vast sums of money for a skimpy piece of cotton in the shops, particularly when I have, (cough), a few pieces of cotton right here. Yesterday I made this dress based on a design I make for the girls. Because it's patternless there are loads of little mistakes but hell, it's not too bad and it has a sufficient level of nekkidness, (henceforth to be known as the Nekkid Factor, or NF for short), to warrant another couple of goes.

x

I don't know how we scarfed it but the ACT has a public holiday today even though we don't have a horse race to justify it.

The Frenchman's made spelt pasta, I've made a chorizo sauce, Lexi's gifted us some (omygodthisisbetterthanafrolicinthehay)mayan gold chocolate from Black and Green we're serving with thin slices of navel oranges, (thanks darlin'!xx) . There's a romping bottle of local shiraz and a table in the garden in dappled shade. I have it on good authority that life doesn't get much better than this.

Wish you were here! xx

Reading: 'Resurrection in a Bucket' by Margaret Simons makes for hilarious bedtime reading so much so that I rolled off the bed I was laughing so hard, (true story). Her discussion of Rudolph Steiner's concern that a diet high in potatoes has led to a regretable increase in journalism and his tantrum when the biodynamic cow-horns weren't unearthed quickly enough was booker prize winning material. I'm also reading Rebecca Miller's short stories, Personal Velocity which arrived in a comfort parcel from Helen, these are a ripping examination of women's lives.

Listening: Radio National's "Into the Music" program hosts some brilliant retrospectives, this month Joni Mitchell and Victor Jara, both beautifully produced programs on two outstanding artists.

Watching: The 39 Steps with, (audible wobble in voice), Rupert Penry-Jones.Why have I not read this book, I ask you? And what a feisty heroine, ooh and there's a splendid close-up of Rupert's rippling back muscles. Also watched Wuthering Heights albeit less enthusiastically. Don't get me wrong I bawled in all the appropriate bits but the two leads didn't pull it off for me. In fairness I'm not sure many actors can nail Heathcliff convincingly, perhaps Heath Ledger if he was still here could plumb the darkness and depravity required.

Buying: sunscreen, swimsuits and beach towels.

Loving: the absence of thermal underwear now that Spring is in her stride.

Wanting: to sneak away with a cup of tea for a little siesta.

Sewing: sporadically, (not cool when I've got a Christmas market to craft for)

More J.A.Mers here

Thanks Jenaveve.

I have new hair. My last haircut was over 8 months ago, an agonising affair that lasted 3 and a half hours of disingenuous conversation interspersed with a slow fry under the hair industry's answer to the sputnik. I'd love to say there was a butterfly that emerged from her chrysalis at the end of the experience but all I could see was a less than enticing shade of beige and a whopping bill for $275. That night I swore I would never darken a hairdresser's door ever again.

The Frenchman assumed sole responsibility for my tresses and was observed watching you-tube videos of pudding bowl haircuts. This should have been a warning to me. A number of months passed by which time my fringe was busily negotiating a march down to the tip of my nose. An appointment was made with the in-house hair technician and I was duly dampened and positioned on a stool in the laundry. I decided that a simple fringe cut would be best in the spirit of harm minimisation. Unfortunately, before I could specify where the fringe should be cut to, I felt something cold half way up the middle of my forehead followed by an unobstructed view of an armpit. As I recall the conversation went something like this:

Me: (in screechy tones)Waaaait, put that back. I didn't say WHERE to cut.

Frenchman: (mildly amused and completely unaware of the seriousness of the situation) Zis is nice, non.

Me: (further incensed)Nice? NICE?? I look like I belong in a remedial reading class circa 1976. ZIS is not NICE.

Frenchman: (gently)But it will not be long before it grows back. A few weeks perhaps.

Me: (verging on hysteria) What do I do for the next few weeks? Wear a bag over my head. (inappropriate and rude hand gesture before flouncing out of the room).

Which is how I returned to the hairdresser's chair. An hour and a half later, I left a brunette having read every inane gossip magazine under the sun. And I bloody loved it.

I'm making you a Christmas present. It's not ready yet, in fact there's some serious tweaking to be done before I can give it to you. I'm aiming for late November which will probably mean early December knowing me. Can't say anymore, the photo's a bit of a teaser but it's not giving much away either. You'll just have to wait...Hope you like it.

xxx

So here's the lowdown. I was mooching about in a little oppie close to my house which, 9 times out of 10, brings no joy whatsoever, when a dusty grey lozenge of polaroid goodness leapt out of the pile of dog eared mills and boon novels bellowing, "pick me, pick me." Seven dollars later and she was mine with dinky carry case and instruction manual to boot.

I was so happy I even bought the knot-headed My Little Pony with the felt-tip mustachios that the little person thrust on the counter in a last-ditch attempt to bring it home, (she's showing him to you in the first photo but he was travelling faster than the speed of light and thus evaded my camera).

Making stuff for Kristy's shop and lots of other new things for the Christmas market too! Must fly, have a date with a manual which will be so technical that I will have to pass it along to the Frenchman to absorb whilst I read a magazine.

Are you well? xx

The Frenchman has returned and the world has righted itself, so the camera has come out to play again.

Roses have started in my garden and wee tomato babies are making an appearance on the vines. It's also time for the grand white elephant stalls at the many Spring fetes that take place in Canberra where I may be recognised only by my bottom as I fossick through the many exciting bits of old ladies tatt.

Have you seen Kirsty's beautifully curated Redwork Quilt? I've contributed a square in there but don't go and look if you have an allergy to profanities. The other squares are beautiful though and much more tasteful. Hope you are well and happy. xxxxx

See the two little kiddies up there in the lovely timber frame?That's Enid standing and Marigold seated demurely crossing her ankles. I bought the picture at auction a couple of years ago because of the frame but have never had the heart to extract these two little souls from it. They are now honorary members of the Rummage household, overseeing the breakfast table and silently admonishing Kipper's table surfing when we're done.

Are you all vignetted out? Yes? One can only see a few artlessly arranged vases before the eyeballs start to recede into the back of your head. Do you know I've been moving stuff around constantly since I was six years old, arranging and rearranging? I used to move all the pieces of furniture around in my bedroom incessantly until Mum started to let me do it to the rest of the house. I think I chose the wrong career, although I'm not sure if that means I should have been an interior designer or a furniture removalist.

xx