LOOK WHAT I MADED!

I took inspiration from a much neater and professional version  and as I cannot knit for sh.. I used some old clothes.  My nan will be turning at her sewing machine when she sees what I’ve done to the language of stitch.  Cute though, yes? 

I think it’s a boy but I’m still trying to find a suitable unisex name and although his wonkiness is endearing, he’s a prototype.  I need to get handy with some more effective stitching techniques and/or borrow a machine.  Like all good parents, I shall continue to make babies until I am completely satisfied with a child.  If you are the first born, your worth is over as soon as new sperm breaks new egg.  This process keeps going with every next sibling and is the reason why the youngest is always the favourite.  Only children are perfect human beings. 

I have one older brother. ;)  

I’m also trying to think of a name for my, shall we say, ‘personal company’ (I realise this sounds like I’m starting up a brothel).  My produce needs a title.  I used to use Try Again Again and now I’m on Curley Says Yes, but I tend to exude discontent and Curley Always Tuts isn’t quite what I’m trying to express.

I have sought help from an anagram machine.  Here are the results for Jade Laura Curley and the ones for Jade Curley.  The latter set of results are somewhat more refined, but all I seem to have got from this exercise is that I can make the word ‘ulcer’ from my surname.  I can also adverb it.  “How’s the ulcer?” “Ulcery.”

So yeah, making a child in a rabbit suit is how I ended my yesterday, which should’ve been a nondescript day but turned out to have things in it. 

I went into Birmingham to finish off my outfit for a wedding next week.  In New Orleans.  Yeah, the American one.  (Our flight is unaffected by the BA strikes, by the way - as yet - so we will not be taking part in the anticipated three year sleepover at Heathrow. *unpacks tent*) From the upstairs of the bus came the incessant tss tss tss tss of some dis dat rude’s phone and behind me a Drum and Bass ringtone.  The conversation went as follows:

“Hello?  I’m literally two, three minutes away…Yeah, I’ll be literally five minutes…Okay, see you in a minute.”

Then a man sat in front of me and was followed by a pong of cologne and he would - approximately every four minutes - swing his head to the right then throw it to the left to crack his neck.  Watching it was much more distressing than hearing it.

I headed straight to Primark to avoid the crowds and spent three thousand and twelve gazzillion pounds, mostly consisting of shoes, bags and sunglasses.  The shoes are going back; the bags and sunglasses, not so much.  I bought the same bag in three colours.  My justification being that because I no longer need to carry an Epipen nor inhaler, it means no medical bag which means I no longer need to carry a big bag wherever I go, and am now allowed small bags.  I am using a medical burden that didn’t quite exist as an excuse and I am sticking to it.

On my way into the shop though, just outside, I could hear this voice amongst the stream of folk.  (This happened really quickly by the way, and it left me a little startled.)  A lady, who I didn’t notice at first because the camel colour she was wearing blended her in, was heading straight for me and saying stuff that I couldn’t hear.  Then I saw the pieces of heather.  She was holding one up at me.  I reckon she thought I had a lapel or a button hole because she made a couple of attempts to put it on the collar of my coat.  I walked a bit faster and she said, “Today will be lucky for you,” and I replied, “No, thank you!” and jumped into the shop.  I said no to luck.  I looked luck in the face and turned it away!

Every time I have a gypsy experience, it reminds me of a scary gypsy experience I once had.  Three Halloweens ago I went to a house party and one of the housemates wanted supplies, so we filled his car, still wearing our costumes (because we were Krazy like that) and went to the shop.  I was dressed as a murder victim, complete with a very realistic looking head wound.

In the shop were a couple of gyspy ladies and a couple of gypsy children.  The women were holding cans and were wasted, a little aggressive and harrassing the man at the counter.  The eldest child, a girl of around seven, joined in with confident quips.  I was feeling uneasy and even the three grown men I was with felt the same.  I whimpered at them to hurry up and tip-toed to the counter to buy some chewing gum.

“What happened to ye?” came a very loud voice.  It was the eldest gypsy child.  I put on a reasonably disturbing voice and told her I’d been murdered.

“Did yo’r husband hit ye?”

Now, I’m not making any suggestions…

Heather Gyspy was right about having a lucky day.  I managed to get my outfit sorted and even got some bits to do some customising.  I also found some great flat leather shoes in the vintage warehouse.  For my holiday.  In New Orleans.  The American one.  Bad luck is that it’s pretty clear that the previous owner had bunions.