I had the joy of putting together this book review for the good folks over at Outlet.
Those of you that are vaguely familiar with me are also au fait with my obnoxious fandom…
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Nick Cave
I went and saw Nick Cave at the Riverstage.
Now I can die happy.
I felt some of my feelings over at OuttaGum. They’re good people.
Bike Path
The Bicentennial Bike Path in Brisbane now takes up roughly 7.5 hours of my week.
Yeah, I’m afraid I’m trying to become one of those people that smugly rides to work. Emphasis placed strongly on smug.
The next three photos are a small ode to its bleak loveliness.
Under the Bridge
Beautiful One Day, Soggy the Next
Storm in a Drain Pipe
Suspiria
I put some words on a page for Outlet Magazine.
I’m fairly pleased with them.
They’re about Suspiria. It’s an excellent movie, and the powers that be want to remake it.
I was displeased to find this out.
This was the face that I made when I found out they’re remaking Suspiria.
Birds
There were some birds in the trees outside today.
Happy days.
He’s Upside Down Miss Pat!
So Green
Pretty Bird
Kid in the Park
Mountain Biking
Lesson one: I’m not a natural born mountain biker. I’m pretty content with my cut-price hipster-nonsense vintage-style lady-treadly.
I learned this lesson while on a decadent adventure with my dear friend Bonnie.
We were treated to a tour around the new Spicers (#fancy, #deluxe – etc) trail around the back of Brisbane.
If you’d enjoy it, I’d like to show you some pictures from our little journey..
Pre-Trail
We started our super-fun-time in New Farm. We ate ourselves silly and probably made too much noise at a proper-posh restaurant. Then, we fell asleep on marshmallow beds watching chick-flicks, because we’re heinous stereotypes.
New Farm
Story Bridge, Brisbane
Day One
I’d never ‘glamped’ before – unless you’re ready to count sleeping in the back of a Cruiser or passing out at Splendour as ‘glamping’.
I can now accurately define ‘glamping’ with accuracy and precision. It includes a king bed, in a sturdy tent, and a view unmolested by man’s urban impressions.
Glamp (noun): a camping site built for delicate flowers
Day Two
I’ve developed a love for LandCruisers. Some would call it Stockholm Syndrome. I’m choosing to call it a relationship hazard.
I’m a Cruiser-girl
Not altogether unpleasant
Day Three
We awoke to one of the loveliest mornings I’ve ever seen.
Good morning, Sunshine
We rode past a pig farm, and it was awesome.
Oink
Good fence
Day Four
“I want to go to there” – a phrase that sums up all of the accommodation we had the pleasure of staying at.
Hidden Vale
In summary – 6 Stars.
Agnes, My Little Person
I want you to say hello to my little friend.
Not like that, but, y’know.
So, I made myself a little friend.
Yeah, I’m that popular.
Anywho, do you want to meet her?
You do? Sweet. I’ll introduce you. Her name is Agnes.
I’d do a tutorial, but, I feel a bit awkward about it, seeing as it’s basically a copy of the design of Julie’s Little People. So, I dare say, either get one of Julie’s, or…figure it out yourself – like a big kid.
I used these fabrics (pictured below) – thanks in large part to my friend Erin’s mum. Some kudos also goes to eBay and op shops of the greater Brisbane region.
This was my pattern:
Then, I made the face:
She looked a little bit “it rubs the lotion on its skin” to start with, but, she turned out okay in the countenance region…
Next up, I sewed the face on to the fluff. This step – flippin’ terrifying.
Success was sweet relief. She looks a touch “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
And yes, I had fluff in my craft supplies. What of it?
I used an awl to poke holes for her eyes. I ended up looking like I’d brutally murdered a muppet.
It wasn’t long before I got to this point though…
As an aside, those Ugg Boots were a good life choice.
Then, I made some appendages.
Put your hands up!
Put your hands up for Detroit!
I had to experiment with the limbs… It was a “I have no idea what I’m doing” moment.
Then, she was stuffed (as was I, after my crafternoon).
Look how cute she is though, sitting on the lounge. She pinched my spot, by the way, the sneaky moll!
No Diggity, I Got to Bag it Up
“Where the flipping-flip is my flipping glasses case” thought I, quietly (untrue) to myself.
“What the flip could I have flipping done with it?” I mused.
“I live in a box, and work in a cubicle – these are the places in which I could have presumable opened the flipping case, and put the flippers on my head – how could I have flipping misplaced them in such a small flipping area?”
As you can now imagine, was in need of a new glasses case. I needed somewhere to house my glasses so as to not smash or smoosh them.
Best not to cry over a misplaced glasses case, be it gold and shiny and emblazoned with Vivienne Westwood, with something that announces to the world that I know things about fashion-stuff, despite my tendency to wear obscenely comfortable clothes everywhere.
No tears.
So, I made a glasses pencil-case zippy bag, because, flip it – why not.
Dana taught me how.
Dana, of Made Everyday (With Dana).
Bloody…Dana.
Dana is pretty much terminally happy to be alive. Which, I reckon would be pretty easy, swanning about in Texas making cool schtuff, while sponsored by a sewing machine company. Dunno, just making asses out of you and me.
Dana gave me the hints I needed to think about making a comfy skirt.
What was I saying? Ah yes, after an hour or so trying to figure out the supreme logistics of making something with lining, I gave up and consulted Doctor Google. And there she was, all smugness and yellow hair, leading me down the golden path of pencil-case creation.
Look at her! Look at that face! The happiness! The great American teeth. Lord, have mercy!
Right – so, I’ve heard you want to watch me swear at Dana? All twenty of you playing along at home. Thanks dudes, you’re awesome. One day I’ll be Pip Lincoln. I think if I ever met her, I’d just break down in blubbering fan-girldom. I’d probably wee a little bit.
Cool.
As they say…
Let’s get started
You will need:
- vintage style fabric – to get the bits I used, you’ll need to talk to my great auntie and my friend’s mum (all of whom are fabulous people).
- a sewing machine
- scissors
- thread
- a zipper
Step One
Watch Dana.
Step Two
Swear at Dana – a lot.
Step Three
Do what she tells you and cut your bits out.
I bet Dana’s sewing room is immaculate. I bet her children poop pearls.
Step Four
For the love of gosh, keep doing what she says. Make the zipper sandwich.
Step Five
Sew up the zipper sandwich!
Say zipper sandwich as many times as you can. It’s like knuckle sandwich, but craftier. A knuckle sandwich, coincidentally, is what I wanted to give Dana…
Sorry Dana, If you’re reading this, I want to be your friend. My vitriol is based in jealousy.
Step Six
Make the other zipper sandwich – on the other side of the zipper.
Zipper Sandwich
Step Seven
Marvel at your good work. You’ve made a zipper bat. Flap flap flap.
Step Eight
Do the top stitch step, because otherwise Dana will leap out of her YouTube lair and eat your
Bow down to the sewing overlords. TOPSTITCHETH, YOU MUST!
Step Nine
Unzip your zipper. *Winks*
Pin down the inside bit, and the outside bit.
For the love of all that’s holy:
MAKE SURE THE ZIPPER IS UNZIPPED.
There is no fury like a zipped zipper in this scenario.
Oh, and leave a space that you won’t sew shut on the inside fabric. That’s so you can jam your hand in when you’re done and reef out the outside bits and turn its skin back the right way.
Go nuts and sew around the outside, around the outside, around the outside.
Step Ten
Celebrate the fact that you haven’t made a hideous mess, and turn the bag out the right way. Leave the innards hanging out a bit, you need to sew the hole up.
Hol’ up. What would you? Get up on my feet and stop making tired excuses! – Yup, City High – still good.
Step Eleven
Jam the innards back in the inside and you are done, my friend.
No diggity, no doubt.
NB: I still have no idea what I did with my glasses case.
Wouldn’t Have Pegged You For It
And on the seventh day, your chosen deity said, “Let there be peg bags! Fancy peg bags! With ric-rac!”
Or, at least, that’s what the good people at Liberty said.
Look at this Liberty-print peg bag.
I’ve got a pretty serious obsession with Liberty kit. If anyone wants to buy me these, I would be much obliged:
Sorry, distracted. So, I was sitting about lusting after a ridiculous peg bag…
Then I looked at the price…
Twenty Five Pounds.
Oh, and another Twenty quid to ship it out to ‘Straya.
I called pork belly! What fiery nonsense, I said, to myself, because no one else wants to listen to my online shopping monologue.
Driven by my desire for what one might call posho-bogan – or paucho-bóg, if you will, I set about making my own fancy peg bag.
Oh? You want one too? You’re so deeply jealous of my flash laundry accessory that you’d like a poorly slapped together tutorial on how to craft your own?
That’s good – because I thought I’d teach you anyways, even if you didn’t really want to know.
Let’s get started
You will need:
- vintage style fabric – it’s easier to attain this if you’ve become that sort of person that old ladies like to give their remnants to… or if your friend’s mum is fabulously talented, and gives her extra fabric to her daughter to make amazing crafty projects, and then you bully said friend into giving said fabric to you. Either way, you’ll soon find that friend’s mum, friend, and old ladies are very cool people.
- a sewing machine
- scissors
- thread
- ric-rac; damn right you’ll need ric-rac
- a cheap coat hanger
Step One
Spend far too many hours performing basic maths.
Yes, I’m tracing around a coat hanger on baking paper, what the hell does it look like I’m doing?
Extra points for realising late in the afternoon that you don’t really need to add a seam allowance to the shoulder-y bit of the coat hanger because that’s not really how triangles work…
During this step you’ll probably wish that you hadn’t just taken ‘Maths A’ and that you would have seen that despite your ceaseless whinging, you would indeed be forced to use maths in ‘real life.’
Step Two
Make one with calico, just so you know it’ll work before you ruin your lovely fabric.
Wonder why you’ve got metres and metres and metres of calico just lying around.
Step Three
Decide you’re vaguely satisfied with the dry run version.
Step Four
Arrive at Spotlight before it opens on a Sunday morning to buy supplies, because you’re the coolest kid in the world.
Can I go and find Pokemans while the Shop Girls do the till? Answer: yes!
Step Six
Use up all of your cunning in not buying a Swiss Army crochet hook.
Step Seven
Pin and cut out the real deal fabric pieces.
NB: I’ve made these a little bit larger than they needed to be because I decided Version One came out a touch too small.
Step Eight
Hem up all the bits that need to be hemmed.
That is to say, any bit that doesn’t go as an inside seam.
- The top triangle-y bits
- Both flap bits
Step Nine
Darn down the hem bit pre-ric-rac application.
Step Ten
Sew on the ric-rac.
Realise that the ric-rac-ified items of the seventies were made by people with the patience of saints.
“Put ric-rac on it,” they said. “It’ll be fun,” they said.
Bow to ric-rac impatience and sew a straight line bang through the middle.
Step Eleven
Set the three pieces down, good sides together, ugly sides to the wind.
Yes mum, I know I should probably vacuum.
You’ll want the ric-rac-ed top underneath the un-ric-rac-ed piece, so the ric-rac shows.
I never really thought I’d have to use the word ric-rac three times in one sentence.
Step Twelve
Sew it the flip together.
Do the zig-zag-y bit if you’re keen.
Step Thirteen
Turn it back out the right way, and you’re pretty much done.
Step Fourteen
Marvel at how much better this peg bag is to your last mediocre plastic monstrosity.
Gross.
Ahhh, domestic bliss.
