Another stupid endeavour

Having Actually Made a Thing, I have continued and I Made Another Thing. It was another skirt, though (I thought! Ha!) less tricky to make. There was no lining for a start, and far less fabric to handle, because it wasn't a crazy puff-ball shape. But then it turned out that I had only managed to insert the zip in the first skirt by some strange fluke, and I managed to get this one wrong three times and have to unpick it, before I realised what I was getting wrong. So that was fun.

Skirt Number Two was also a much lighter-weight fabric, so harder to keep the edges neat, and harder to avoid it stretching while being sewn. And there were more seams sewn on the bias, which didn't want to behave. And it was a full-circle skirt. And the only way to get a really neat hem was to hand-stitch a blind hem. Despite only being knee-length, a circle turns out to have quite a large perimeter. About 15 feet of hand-stitching. 

A very, very long hem

So once I'd recovered from the cramp in my hands, the weather turned cold, and I've only actually managed to wear my nice swishy circle-skirt once. 

Swishy!

But once summer comes, and it's not too windy, I shall be swishing and swirling my way round the village.

Meanwhile, however, I have been unable to resist the lure of more beautiful fabric and am embarking on a pair of trousers. Which would be a splendid idea, if it weren't for the fact that the only pattern that I could find that even came close to making what I wanted was a download, and not a physical printed pattern. So step one was to print out thirty A4 sheets of paper and attempt to sellotape them all together into one giant sheet. It turns out it's quite tricky to stick that many pieces together perfectly lined up. Two days later and I had an approximation to a pattern. Not a useable pattern you understand, since it couldn't be cut out and pinned to fabric, being made of thirty pieces of erratically-sellotaped printer paper. So then I had to trace the pieces onto pattern paper, and cut those out. 

You might think that I would now be ready to cut the fabric for my trousers. But, no! I have opted to make a muslin version first, to get the fit right before committing to cutting the actual fabric. Which sounds like a really splendid idea, until it turns out that muslin has a mind of its own, and shifts, stretches and wriggles as soon as you consider cutting or sewing it. So, I currently have a half-assembled pair of muslin trousers, and a vague reluctance to carry on, because I fear the step where I discover they don't fit quite right and I have to work out what changes I need to make.

It may be some time before this is a blog post about trouser progress...

Idiot cat is... an idiot?

Over the past year, IdiotCat has become accustomed to having us all at home. I'm not sure that he approves, but he has at least adjusted to our presence. If "adjusted" means that he spends any time when he's not asleep shouting at us. It is at mealtimes, however, that he has developed his most fixed habits. He is a big fan of mealtimes.

This is IdiotCat's schedule for a family meal:

• Follow person carrying plate of food from kitchen to dining room. Ideally position yourself just in front of person carrying plate, in the hope you will either trip them up or guide them to your own food bowl.

• Continue past the dining table to your own food bowl, and stare at the floor. When the plate fails to arrive, look around to identify where the person has taken the food.

Where did you take the plate?

•  Walk round the table, assessing where the best smells are coming from.

• Sit hopefully for a while before observing that the clinky-clanky noise is occurring when the people are banging the plates with metal sticks. Clinky-clanky noises mean it isn't time for IdiotCat to be fed. Unless the smell of fish or cheese is so overwhelming that IdiotCat cannot resist putting his paws up on the edge of a chair, hoping that his unbearable cuteness will cause a person to relent. The fact that no person has ever relented and fed IdiotCat is not relevant.

Unbearable cuteness

• When people fail to feed IdiotCat, it's time to guard the table, in case other cats spot that it's meal time. There are no other cats, but you can't be too careful. Spread yourself out as large as possible in the doorway, with your back to the dining table, watching the world and making sure nobody attempts to steal fish or cheese.

You shall not pass

• After a suitable length of time guarding the people and the food, it may be time to come and sit on a chair at the head of the table to assess the chances of stealing or begging food.

For me?

• When the clinky-clanky noise stops, it is time to beg at the big human's chair. The big human sometimes provides leftover gravy. It's worth begging for gravy even if the big human has been eating a cheese sandwich. You just never know.

You've finished?

With all this, you may be beginning to think that IdiotCat is not an idiot, and that he's got everything well under control. Well, think again. This week we had some unusually clement weather, and LittleBear and I chose to eat in the summerhouse. I treated myself to smoked salmon. IdiotCat is a big fan of smoked salmon, so was very keen to make sure he let me know this as I prepared lunch.

As we were taking the food out, I carried a tray loaded up with most things, and LittleBear carried a plate. A plate with only the smoked salmon on. Naturally, IdiotCat pre-followed LittleBear, straight to his food bowl. And he then failed to notice that LittleBear and the smoked salmon continued through the house, across the garden and into the summerhouse. Thus it was that LittleBear and I were able to eat our lunch in splendid peace while watching IdiotCat go through each stage of his mealtime ritual in turn. 

He walked round the table.

He guarded the doorway.

He begged at BigBear's chair.

There was no food. There were no people. He is an idiot.

Eventually he gave up, and mooched through the house. Then he spotted a butterfly to chase in the garden, and upon scampering after it, his nose twitched and he homed in on the smell of smoked salmon.

I know it's here somewhere

My poor cat is definitely not the brightest kitten in the barrel, but he does try. So yes, he did get a scrap of smoked salmon at the end of lunch. Because i'm just as much of a softie as BigBear.

March reading list

March turned, at first inadvertently, and then deliberately, into a month of only allowing myself to re-read books. It also provoked me into having a mild purge of the bookcases, evicting books that I wasn't prepared to re-read. If I have no desire to read it, and more than a decade has passed, I think it's fair to send it to a better home. Currently "better home" translates to "sitting in a pile and getting in the way in the hall", but I aspire to improve upon that. Perhaps when charity shops are open again. Meanwhile, here is the selection of books that featured last month...

Hide and Seek - Ian Rankin

The second Inspector Rebus novel. Again only vague recollections of it. Again not the Rebus I remember from the later novels. I'm rather enjoying re-reading them as new though, and currently prefer the character of Rebus that I am (re)discovering more than I remember doing either first time round, or in the books that I have a stronger recollection of. Either the odd decade has changed my outlook on grumpy middle-aged characters, or my memory is flawed. Or both.

Sweet Danger - Margery Allingham

Due to a catastrophic failure in the internal library system, what I was expecting to be the second of the Albert Campion books turned out not to be, but I was committed and didn't want to abort a few chapters in once it dawned on me that there was a chunk of chronology missing. I more-or-less remembered the plot of this, as it can only be five to ten years since I started reading Allingham. Rather silly, and fun, but horribly, horribly sexist and racist, so occasionally difficult to fully enjoy the silliness.

Faceless Killers - Henning Mankel

Ah, Scandinavian crime novels, a great way of depressing oneself. BigBear introduced me to the Wallander books sometime round about 2005/6 ish. And I think I've only read them all once, so this was another foray into realising how little of the plot of a murder mystery I remembered. The characters were at least familiar, unlike with Ian Rankin, so it would seem that I have some ability to hold onto the essence of who I'm reading about, if not what I'm reading about.

Ash, A Secret History - Mary Gentle

A proper, epic historical-fantasy set in a not-quite real Burgundy of the 15th century, with many battles and much bloodshed. I last read this when BrotherBear spent a year on sabbatical in Japan and deposited his books with me while he rented out his house. This gave me the chance to read large quantities of books that I didn't own without even having to go to the library. This one stuck with me as a rollicking adventure, so I have recently bought myself a second-hand copy, and now seemed a good time to tackle it again. At 1,100 pages, "tackle" feels like an apt term. Curiously, though I did remember quite sizeable chunks of the plot, it was all chopped up and swapped around in my head, so events that I thought occurred a good half way through were actually in the first couple of chapters.

At 550 pages in I was wondering how it was going to fill another 550 pages. Most of what I recalled had happened, bar (obviously) the exciting denouement, so I genuinely couldn't fathom how it could be stretched out even further. But it could. And not all of it was descriptions of armour. Though there were a lot of those. I suppose if you've gone to all the effort of researching 15th century mercenary armour in Western Europe, you want to make sure you shoehorn all that research into your masterwork.

Armour aside, it was still as entertaining a read as it was fifteen years ago, though I had forgotten how irritating I found one of the literary techniques used. The entire book is presented as though it is a translation of a newly discovered text, and thus is interrupted every few chapters by the email correspondence between the supposed translator and editor. Both of whom I wished to throw out of the nearest window.

Tooth and Nail  - Ian Rankin

I am absolutely convinced I've never read this book before. But since all the Rankin's are mine, not BigBear's, this seems unlikely. Curiously, though only the third book in the series, it opted for the old chestnut of taking the protagonist to a new location for a bit of variety. Which the series didn't really need yet. But it worked, and I enjoyed reading it for the first(!) time. I'm beginning to wonder if the Inspector Rebus of my memory actually exists, as he's not the one who's appeared in the first three novels.

44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith

I have loved these books, though not returned to them recently. The cast are primarily the residents of a single building in Edinburgh that is divided into flats, and the series of books simply explores their lives, loves, foibles and minor domestic adventures. The books was originally written as a newspaper serial, with a new chapter appearing every day. The compilation of very brief episodes that manage to hold together as a single narrative is unusual nowadays, but captivating. There is very little in the way of actual plot, it's all character-driven, which interestingly meant it all seemed a lot more familiar than any other books I've re-read after a similar length of time away - the nature of the characters has stayed with me far more than anything mundane like who killed whom. The downside of this is that it repaid a return visit somewhat less than the rest of this month's offerings.