Virginia Woolf was so right. Everyone deserves a space of their own, be it mental or physical. I had both this weekend. The house was empty and for the first time that I can remember this year, I was free of the writing commitments that usually keep guilt fluttering at the edges of my weekend existence. A whole 48 hours to do with as I liked! Oh, the utter luxury.
So what did I do?
A spot of zipper insertion in my jim jams with the radio on for company and a skinny latte by my side. Bliss, unending bliss until a quick look at the clock made me realise I was running late for…
Street Dance class at the gym! This is my favourite exercise hour of the week. Picture one of the backing dancers you see on The X Factor. Now imagine that they’ve forgotten all the steps and gained three stone in weight. I look ridiculous; I’m also having the time of my life. Well, apart from when the teacher makes us do cartwheels as part of the warm up. Cartwheels? Cartwheels! Every time I want to say to him, ‘I am a 41-year-old woman. Do I LOOK like I can do a cartwheel?’ But I always try my ungainly best, because my mother taught me to do as I’m told. How that man keeps the sniggering out of his face I will never know.
My bus journey around London involved a spot of knitting. Whoever wins the Sensational Snood Sweetener, it’s worth knowing that your new item has seen Islington, the Victoria and Albert Museum and Goldhawk Road. Oh, and the number 56 bus route!
A visit to Goldhawk Road where I bought various fabrics of gorgeosity, including my first ever metre of silk organza to use as a pressing cloth and for those moments where a seam may need stabilizing. So light. So ethereal. Sooo strong.
Silk. £3 a metre. Just saying.
I plan to sew, sew, sew the Gertie Bombshell Dress. I have found the perfect sewing soundtrack. Like, it’s ridiculous. Like, you have to download this from iTunes immediately. Sarah Blasko‘s Cinema Songs.
Five tracks only, interpreting songs from great films. It’s just Sarah and a piano. Her voice is a touch of heaven. The recording allows you to hear the piano key strikes rolling around the body of the piano like cigar smoke rolling around a mouth. I defy you to listen to the Sound of Music’s ‘Something Good’ without tears pricking your eyes. This song gains so much depth the moment it’s NOT sung by a nun! In my imagination, this version is being sung by a tired nightclub singer at the end of a shift, as she’s being largely ignored by the last few ragtaggle customers in the bar. Invest this song with a genuinely messy life and emotional scars, and – wow – does it speak. I honestly can’t listen to it without blubbing. Dangerous, when tears threaten to stain the handpicked zipper you’re working on.
Happy Sundays, everyone! I hope you’ve found your room, too…