My favourite stall holder
It’s time to announce the results of my Butterick 3354 Giveaway. (Actually, it was time yesterday but I forgot.)
I was really impressed by the variety of answers to my question: What is your favourite childhood holiday? Talk about opening a Pandora’s box! You know how your family seems normal and everyone else’s is a little bit odd? Check out this collection of memories:
- Rachel from Boodogg and Me was fed pineapple sandwiches by her dad. AND LIKED THEM! I abhor pineapple. Squeezed between slices of white bread?Thank you for sharing a vision of hell, Boodogg.
- Winnie of Scruffy Badger Time painted a detailed picture of Girl Guide camps that had me shuddering in sympathy. I, too, was forced to empty the latrines and make draining boards out of sticks. I hated Girl Guide camp. Loathed it. Despised it. Glad to discover I wasn’t the only one suffering!
- Katha shared memories of sand-filled jam baguettes, that recalled my own fond baguette memories. On a childhood caravan holiday in France, we’d tear out the soft bread from inside the end of a baguette, smear butter and jam around the insides and then stuff a banana down. Portable French sandwich! I’ve started making these again recently and confirm that they’re still yummy – though possibly best eaten in private.
But, really. Who can compete with the vision Tilly conjured? A little girl already on her way to becoming a fashion icon with her refusal to follow the tiresome rules of bikini attire. Young Tilly refused to wear the bottom half of her bikinis on holiday. Top half only, bare little rosy bum cheeks getting burned in the sun. Aw. bless her. ’I've got sand up my bum!’ Yes, Tilly and you have a new vintage pattern! I’ll drop you an email and organise postage.
Thank you to everyone who entered and for sharing such wonderful memories.
In other news, I’m nearing completion of my muslin for Vogue V1183.
I’ll share photos soon and guarantee I’ll have questions to ask, seeking your advice. I suspect a second muslin is in order. There’s no way I’m cutting into that red cashmere wool from Paris until I’m confident. I’m not confident yet. Not by a long way.
Walthamstow market this morning