Bunting

All the bunting I made to decorate our wedding last year has finally found a purpose, having failed remarkably in its first calling. I spent a very happy time last summer cutting out triangles with pinking scissors in varying shades of pink. A very satisfying experience all round but of course, being my thrifty Scottish Father's daughter, I saved all the scraps just in case they came in handy. And being my dotty Mother's daughter I packed all the wedding things to come up to Edinburgh from London and only found that I'd brought the bag of scraps (rather than the neatly folded bunting) the night before the wedding.

That mild trauma aside, the triangles have now all had their pointy noses cut off to become a lovely patchwork picnic blanket. It's unashamedly pink so I'm sure Tottie will love it when she's old enough to visit us all the way over here for picnics. I had maintained a healthy fear of patchwork ever since trying to help Granny Mardi with her epic creations. They all involved templates and angles and great precision so it took a leap of faith for me to start cutting up unmeasured and uneven shapes in the back of the car and trusting to my seamstress skills (and patience) to sew them all together by hand. Some how the thing manages to lie flat regardless of my negligence.

None of this of course mitigates the fact that my mother-in-law is quite convinced that I am making some sort of monster baby clothes, presumably for the hypothetical monster babies. These trials of language still plague me.

Now we are six

A happy bear
Originally uploaded by Molly Matthew.

I don't know how A.A.Milne managed to become so clever in just six years. I finally have the look-I've-done-clever-stuff bit to add to my name but it took a bloody long time to get there. I think I still have a lot to discuss with young A.A. though - bears most especially and why he should be so concerned about their presence round corners.

I have a small bear of my own who likes syncronised dance routines to hip hop and porridge and other things that a bear from New York would like. He has a lot in common with the anthropomorphised bears from Jasper Fforde's world althought I'm certain he'd rather live in the skyrise tower than a cottage in the woods.

I have a serious point to make about bears, and the brilliance of Jasper Fforde but I have been outdone by a roast lamb and a clock.

and so, to bed

Dialects

It's hard to be in a country where your nickname (or at least one of the hordes of pseudonyms) sounds rude. At least I have my more respectable, full title to go to now - Auntie Pusscat. My little niece is getting pretty vocal and to hear a two year old yelling "pussy!" might just be too much for some Americans. Mind you her moniker of Tottie isn't much better in London. I blame the parents.