Have Passport, Will Travel
- Passport? Check.
- Factor 50 Suncream? Check.
- Ghoulishly white legs? Check.
Someone pass me the fake tan, quick!
Unless I finish that last sewing project my mad brain has planned for today, this is probably the final outfit shot you’ll see, prior to my catching the Heathrow Express. Nervous? Excited? I can tell you exactly how I feel via the medium of a dramatic scene that is on constant loop inside my head right now:
I arrive at Passport Control. Long-term readers will know that I am already in a fizz of fury, as I hate being told what to do, and Passport Control is the ultimate in being told what to do. How I gnash my teeth! How my hands fist! What I wouldn’t do to jump a rope and run towards Duty Free. But I can’t. I have to be good.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. They’re wearing a uniform and a sad face. They start to talk to me slowly and quietly. ‘I’m afraid we can’t let you on this plane, Karen. You’re simply not a good enough person to deserve all the fun you’ve been anticipating. Whatever hopes you’ve been clinging to, please let them go now. Go home. Unpack your suitcase. Forget this dream.’
That’s how I’m feeling right now! Overdramatic? Moi?!
Back to the outfit. I wanted something really cool for the hotter temperatures my doughy British body will be experiencing in the US of A. The skirt is made from a two-tone linen that I bought for £4 a metre at Goldhawk Road. It’s a fabric I’ve felt drawn to innumerable times, but always resisted. (Why is it easier to resist solid colours, when a print will immediately turn me into a puddle with an open purse?) As my gaze lingered on this fabric for the -enth time, and I’d just been told it was less than half the price being charged in the shop on the other side of the road, I did think, Just give in, Karen. Buy the damn stuff. You want a linen skirt for your trip, anyway!
This is my second version of the Ginger skirt. I used a flat felled seam on the front centre seam for some interest. Please note that flat felled seams are much easier to construct in crisp cotton than fluid linen! I didn’t cut on the bias this time. The skirt came together very easily.
I chose to line it in some lemon muslin, keen to keep all fabrics natural and breathable:
I’m going to say something possibly contentious now. Want to know the secret to a well-inserted invisible zip? Stump up the money for an invisible zipper foot for your machine. As a novice Sewist I kept thinking that if I just tried harder, applied myself more, sewed with more patience, I would achieve the levels of excellence I saw elsewhere. Then I spent £35 on a new foot (wince!) and haven’t looked back. Why hadn’t anyone ever told me this? So, now I’m telling you. (I’ll enjoy reading any comments that beg to differ on this point! I may simply be inept.)
The top is a Sorbetto and I refuse to apologise for that fact! I’ve stopped counting. But, look! Ickle sailing boats! Perfect for the breezy joy of a holiday. The roll of fabric was selling for £3 a metre, leaning awkwardly against an open doorway in some derisory attempt to draw attention. Derisory or not, my heart melted on sight. It would have been easy to employ some self control and walk away and I’m very glad I did not.
So, there we have it. One last outfit for the holidays. I’ll be interested to see how the linen stands up to being packed in a suitcase. Any tips for easy linen care in a tiny hotel room, let me know!
Finally, a big thank you to all the people who left such staggeringly eloquent and wise comments on yesterday’s blog post. There we have it again – more empathy. I felt extremely humbled by the care of thought and real insight that went into your words. What a clever bunch you are!