I've said it before and I'll say it again

I love freecycle.

Normally any listings on the local group are snapped up in no time, but one listing for sewing patterns has popped up again and again for the last couple of weeks. So I said I would take them.

Never hurts to have a sewing pattern or two knocking about the house.

I arranged to collect what the lady described as "a few" patterns and she also had some fabric scraps as well if I wanted to take this. So I did.

"A few" patterns turned out to be a huge box stuffed with over 30 patterns. Some are lovely with some vintage, some, um, retro and some are just plain and simply as rare as the hen's teeth. Lets just say I'd have to make the shoulder pads for some of these bad boys from scratch, because I don't think I can buy them ready made and to the best of my knowledge even Bombardier don't make wings that big!


The jammies on the left can be made in girl's sizes but I must have a pair too. I'm pretty certain my tiny little shorts days are buried somewhere in the past though:) Would you look at those little blue ones, you'd be able to see what I had for breakfast in those!

And my opinion of the humble fabric scrap has obviously been tainted through dabbling in patchwork. As far as I'm concerned a piece of fabric has to be too small to blow your nose on before it qualifies as a scrap.


Clearly dressmakers and patchworkers have two very different opinions on what qualifies as scrap fabric because that bag was full of yardage, yard after yard of lovely fabric. And you won't see me complaining.


That little elephant print is just crying out to be running round the hem of a new market skirt isn't it?


I've no plans whatsoever for the rest yet. It's all bundled up now and getting a once over in the washing machine. A good press with the iron and they'll be ready to go.

But if my sheer luck annoys you and if it will make you feel any better, I also have a huge zit right in between my eyebrows that just isn't showing any signs of clearly the eff off. Seriously, I look like a Klingon* and I now get to go off and spend the day up at Scrabo tower and then off to Kilkeel or Newcastle and have picnics and such looking like this!

Go on admit it, you feel better don't you?

*Please note for your own safety that even Klingons eating dainty little sandwiches with the crusts cut off and sipping juice from a plastic flowery cup should not be approached. They can still be pretty pissy when caught off guard.

Murlough Bay

On Thursday we spent a long day at Murlough Bay. Murlough National Nature Reserve is on the County Down coast below the Mourne Mountains. The sand dunes are over 5,000 years old and are an area of special scientific interest and a special area of conservation.

Still when you arrive with a four year old all the long haired Dexter cattle, Exmoor ponies, birds, rabbits and butterflies mean squat.

Because sand + water = BEACH.





And there's a lot of beach here.




I spent a lot of time at Murlough as a kid and visited a few times on school trips but somehow I managed to forget that even if a sky high wall were to built around Ireland, it would still be windy here.

Really really windy.

Toots and I left the beach well and truly sand blasted.

But not before she insisted on playing in the ocean.

With all the bravery and determination only a four year old can muster, she psyched herself up.




With her jeans rolled up and an extra jumper added (standard beach attire in Ireland) she tentatively ventured in to the water.




This would be her back out of the water again, complaining about the fact that I really didn't make it clear enough, just how cold the water really is.






Unfortunately, I was the designated coat carrier and I left the photo taking up to the husband so they're few and far between. I do have some video though, and I'll get it up here at some stage.

We had a lovely day and Toots really enjoyed herself, playing in the water and climbing over the sand dunes.

We had an Irish picnic before heading home. For anyone who doesn't know an Irish picnic involves weighing everything down to stop it from blowing away and cooking on the ground, tucked in between the car and a hill to stop the flame on the stove from blowing out.

The husband and I sat at one of the picnic tables enjoying our lunch while Toots roughed it in the back seat of the car with her food and media player

Although in all fairness she was the only one out of the three of us with the brass neck to go in the water.