No. 1 – Clasp purse

Ta da! Yes, I’ve finally made a start on my challenge! Woo hoo! Admittedly, it’s a very small item but it’s one I’ve coveted for a bit (ever since we went shopping in Worcester and I saw one in Monsoon – there’s also an oilcloth bag in a pretty kitty pattern I’ve just GOT to have).

somewhere to keep my pixie pennies and leprechaun gold

Clasp purses hold a very special fascination for me. As a child, I was often the recipient of stuff grown up aunts and cousins didn’t want any more; my bedroom cupboard positively bulged with hand-me-down clutch purses, evening bags in mock croc with chains for handles (look, it was the 70s, all right??) and saggy looking satchel-types in soft not-really-leather-but-trying-hard-to-look-like-it. And clasp purses. Lots and lots of clasp purses. My favourite had a gently curved gilt frame and a coarse coat-like fabric in checked green. It looked, now I think of it, like someone had made it from a corner of a cast-off coat. I loved it. It accompanied me on many seaside holidays, carrying the coins that paid for the pony-adventure-novels that kept me quiet in many a rainy caravan. In fact, I think I probably loved it to death – eventually the fabric frayed and pulled away from the frame, exposing it’s unglamorous cotton lining and, finally, the clasp itself broke and simply wouldn’t remain closed. Sad times.

So a new clasp purse is a wondrous thing. Especially one that hasn’t been mass-produced by an underpaid factory worker a very very long way away. And it’s doubly good because it has a mushroom on it (those who know me are well versed with my mushroom and toadstool obsession – I’ve put them on bags, tee’s, jackets and skirts). And it’s purple. The lining is a lovely purple cotton. It’s probably not really the right choice – a lighter colour might have made it easier to find those pesky little 5 pences that will undoubtedly hide right in the corners but, you know, tough cheddar. I like purple. And an abundance of horrid little 5p’s (does anyone like them? Or are we, as a nation, unilaterally opposed to those annoying little bits of silver that just don’t seem big enough to grasp when you’re in a rush?) means I can invest in one of those sweet little VW camper money-boxes I’ve wanted for so long.

I actually can't wait to go shopping now and use this!

The only downside is that it doesn’t have anywhere to keep bank cards, receipts, etc. But that’s ok. Because I have lots and fabric and a sewing machine and another challenge to meet next week 😉

Craft Schizophrenia, raging Tonsillitis and our very own (mini) Wickerman Festival

It’s been an odd sort of week. We’ve all (Malenky excepted, unless he coughs very, very quietly) been struck down with raging Tonsillitis. Teen-Boy and Pixie-Girl made relatively rapid recoveries but The Man and I are still as croaky as emphysemic donkeys with a fifty-a-day habit. I wouldn’t mind quite so much if I’d developed the husky tones of, say, Marianne Faithfull but to be honest I sound more like Frank Butcher. And that’s never good.

"Pat! Paaaaaaat!"

Right. It’s time to come clean. I’ve kept it hidden for while but I think now’s the time to ‘fess up and make a clean break of it. I am a Craft Schizophrenic. Lots of you already know about my little Etsy shop and my passion for all things Faery. But I do harbour dark secrets, dear Readers. Oh, yes. Vintage, for a start. (But then, who doesn’t these days? I do have, tucked away in a cupboard somewhere, an old curtain which would have been all the rage in the 70s but was actually at the window of a house I moved into. In 2000. Seriously. But I do think it will make a fantastically retro skirt.) But, really, most fabrics and projects will satisfy my sewing obsession – bags, purses, plushies, brooches, sock monsters…

What makes it worse, I think, is that I grew up with the idea that you should just pick something and stick to it, whether you like it or not. (Careers guidance at my school was a little lacking.) So I suppose I do feel a little awkward about working in several different craft genres. Having said that, no one honestly expects office workers to live and breathe all things stationery, do they? I mean, I’ve worked in tons of offices but none of my colleagues had a passion for collecting paper clips, photocopying endless (mostly irrelevant) documents, or even constructing those giant elastic band balls. And, likewise, I’m not (always) likely to visit my local Sainsburys wearing wings, pointy ears and nothing but bells on my feet. (In truth I don’t go anywhere near my local Sainsburys. I don’t have anything against Sainsburys, per se, but my local store is in Withymore, which sounds like it might be a charming little village with an authentically thatched roof or two but is actually

1. only a short bus ride away and
2. the bus has to journey through the local council estate, where one of the favourite activities of local youths is lobbing bricks at passing buses

so I’d rather shop online. Which I can do in my wings and pointy ears, as it happens.

Anyway, I digress. The point is, I even opened another Etsy shop, for all the things that aren’t strictly ‘Faery’, where I’ve stashed all my brooches and bags. I gave it a ‘normal’ sounding name but now I’m thinking… what the hell? I make stuff. Lots of stuff. Bags, Faery wear, brooches, plush creatures.

And would you look at that, I’m right out of my Craft closet now, aren’t I?

We almost had the smallest Wickerman Festival in the world yesterday. Small because not only were there only 3 of us there, it also took place in our kitchen (which is reasonably large but certainly not large enough for even an average sized festival). I should explain; our gas hob is, well, temperamental. To say the least. Sometimes the ignition works first time, sometimes it just goes ‘meh’ and doesn’t bother. Also, we have a whistle-y kettle (and this one does actually whistle, which is a vast improvement on the last one which made a noise not unlike a tonsillitis-stricken-cat trying to hiss). To cut a long (potentially boring) story short, when The Man had put the kettle on, the hob had indeed gone ‘meh’ and not bothered. I realised and pressed the ignition at about the same time that Teen-Boy realised the lid wasn’t on the kettle properly and reached out to… WHOOSH!!

I’m pleased to report there were no injuries. Just a couple of shocked bystanders and a square or two of chocolate helped with that 😉

Hot choc and Saturday turkeys

Saturday night in the Scrapunzel household is Film Night. The Man, Teen-Boy and yours truly take it in turns to pick a movie, with which we enjoy popcorn and (real) hot chocolate, the recipe for which I will now share with you. Sometimes the film is a winner, sometimes not (I’ve picked some proper turkeys, I can tell you) but the hot choc is always a ‘Win’ (that’s Teen-Boy speak for very, very good).

This is a bastardised version of the recipe for hot chocolate and rum in a Nigella book. I used to follow the recipe but then one day I just didn’t have honey and wondered if golden syrup would do.*  It does. Oh, it really, really does. In fact, I prefer this version.

• 500ml milk
• 300ml water
• 150g plain chocolate
• 3 teaspoons sugar
• 3 teaspoons golden syrup
• cinnamon

Place milk, water, chocolate and cinnamon in large saucepan. Add the sugar and golden syrup. Whisk. Let it almost boil and simmer for several minutes, whisking continuously. Pour into cups and serve.

If you have less of a sweet tooth (which wouldn’t be difficult) adjust the sugar and syrup quantities. I also water down the milk – for one thing, I find milk mostly indigestible and for another, I’m a bit icky about the skin that forms on any milky drink. Oh, I also omit the rum that Nigella recommends. The Man and rum don’t mix. He’d make a lousy pirate. (I’ve no idea if I’d be a good pirate or not but I’d be willing to give it a good go and, since The Man has one less tattoo than me, I think I’m already off to a flying start. In fact, I might begin wearing an eye-patch just for fun.)

As for the turkeys… I won’t name and shame the picker. (But they were mostly me.)

*That’s mostly how I cook, by the way – subbing one ingredient for another or altering quantities if I don’t have enough of something – and I assume other people do, too. It always surprises me when someone rejects a recipe because they don’t have any oregano or something.

Daily Bread

Well, it’s not really daily. We tend to bake bulk batches and freeze a loaf or two. There really is nothing like relying on home baking to make you realise you don’t need to eat bread every day. In fact, I probably eat more cake than bread (a fact which, although it would have made me very popular with the likes of Marie Antoinette, I know I should be slightly ashamed of). But baking bread is hard. Really, really hard. It is genuine, physical work which, paradoxically, makes it enticing and fun to do and also very, very easy to put off until tomorrow.

Perhaps I should explain here – I don’t have a breadmaker. I’ve actually worked my way through a few breadmakers (the last one ended very badly – the turn-y bit at the bottom which is supposed to do all the kneading worked it’s way loose, resulting in poorly kneaded dough and some sort of nasty oily substance finding it’s way into the dough too) and now I just find it’s easier to make it by hand. Admittedly, bread-baking duties sometimes fall into The Man’s jurisdiction but even so, this is a breadmachine-free household.

Anyway, I’ll post recipes. Not just bread but cakes and anything else I find. And like. Or really hate -sometimes the ‘ick-factor’ is just too great to resist. (If you’re very, very lucky(??) I might even find my mother’s recipe for Chicken Mould.)

The Challenge

’52 ways to leave your high street retailer’….

Ten points if you know the song I’m referencing. Ten points to me if that tune sticks in your head for the rest of the day.

Ok, it’s a simple enough challenge: 52 weeks in a year, 52 high street items that I must source elsewhere.

Rules? erm…

• items can be made from new or recycled materials
• items can be sourced from marketplaces such as Etsy or Folksy
• one item per week
• gifts for birthdays, Crimbo and other festivals can be included

Ok. I’ll be starting… soon(ish).

Everybody’s doing it…

Blogging, that is.

So this is mine. And this is the introductory blog post… I’m tempted to do it in a Bridget Jones stylee – ‘this is Niccy, she likes sewing and baking cakes but doesn’t hoover as much as she should’ – but talking about yourself in the third person is probably a sign of encroaching madness (even Facebook doesn’t expect you to do it anymore).

So, hello! I’m Niccy, I like sewing and baking cakes and I don’t hoover as much as I should. Or dust. When it comes to the old Domestic Goddess routine I definately need ‘a woman who does’.

I’d rather sew. Sewing is many things. Work, friend, therapist (probably). My patchwork clothes are for sale on Etsy and I’m working on lots of other projects too.

It’s probably hard to believe, but up until a few years ago I was actually terrified of my sewing machine. But every now and then I’d be grabbed by the idiotic, irresistable compulsion to sew. Which meant dragging it from the darkest depths of the musty, spidery cupboard where it lived (in mortal terror of whatever beasties might leap into my hair, uck!), struggling to remember how to thread it up and then mutiliating whatever beautiful fabric I’d bought with the misguided idea of sewing myself something pretty. It usually ended badly. Often bloodily. Always with the monstrous sewing machine exiled to the back of the cupboard under the stairs with a ‘never again’ promise.

And then… well, I don’t know what happened. I’d like to be able to relate some inspirational and uplifting story but there isn’t one. Maybe aliens came in the night and re-wired my brain so that I could understand my sewing machine. Or, more likely, I just got older and more patient (and realised that reading the instructions might help).

So that’s it. Well, some of it. The beginning of my blog, anyway. There’s more to come – expect recipes, everyday ramblings and possibly the odd rant or two.