Last night

I had a dream that I was living with Marianne Kirby from the Rotund, and that I was a coblogger on Fatshionista with Lesley.

Then there was a zombie apocalypse of a not very terrfying type.  We just had to stay inside until the zombie disease killed all the zombies, but I did have to rescue Janet’s Grace from the zombies by buying her off of them.  She cost $170.

I think I need to stop listening to podcasts right before bed.  Last night I listened to fatcast and this TED talk.

I also hung the prints I had framed when we moved (three? months ago) and a bunch of photos.  I need to go through more photos and get some printed out in black and white to hang.  It looks like a grownup lives in my house!  And I tidied and sorted my room and the living room – doesn’t sound like much, but it was getting a bit ridiulous given the lack of storage space.

My sister booked her ticket to Ireland today.  She wanted mid June but everything was booked so she managed a cheap ticket for the end of July.  I must admit that my first reaciton was disappointment, because – I know this will be a shock to you because it’s not like I keep going on about it – but I am so so looking forward to living by myself.  But I’m not-so-subtly encouraging her to pack up some of her stuff that’s in the house, like all her books and DVDs that take up half the living room, which will ease my cranky claustrophobia, I think.

What does that even mean, anyway?

I have about a half a post written about language and how fuzzy it is, and in particular as regards women’s bodies.  I think it’s akin to the way the word ‘socialist’ and ‘liberal’ has been hijacked by the right in America.  They now mean things completely divorced from the original, specific meanings of the word.  I’m sure there are plenty of more Australian or general examples, but those are the two that jump out at me all the time, since I find them so jarring.  Especially since we have the big-L Liberals over here.

I think mostly it’s all tied up in the weird morality games we play with bodies.  Salad is ‘good’, pizza is ‘bad’.  (As one Shapely Prose commenter put it ‘it’s pizza for lunch, not genocide’*)  Fat doesn’t really mean fat – it means ugly, disgusting, unhealthy, unlovable, unworthy.  It doesn’t refer to how much we weigh, or our mass or our hip measurements, it’s about how we look – which is why a skinny girl can say ‘omg I am so fat!’ (code: I look ugly) and in the next breath assure someone like me ‘but you’re not fat at all!’ (code: but you are perfectly attractive!).

Pretty does not mean good to look at, it means fits a certain group of characteristics such as looking innocent and pure and also probably white.  Beautiful is reserved for people who are not virginal and aren’t trampy-sexy but who you’d still bang.  Sexy does not refer to people that you personally would like to have sex with, it means someone who has the required body shape and has spent the enourmous amounts of time neccessary to fit patriarchal standards of feminine beauty and is wearing appropriate clothes and shoes.  (Many times I catch myself thinking ‘yeah, she’s hot.  I don’t find her attractive, but she’s hot. What does that even mean omg.)

And most present in the last few days, ‘flattering’ does not mean ‘makes you feel good’ or even ‘makes the most of what you’ve got’.  I means ‘fools people into thinking you are closer to the ‘ideal’ figure, ie tall, thin, hourglass, than you actually are.’  Already Pretty just posted today about different body shapes and how they look great and how, sure.  Minimize your hips if you want, but you don’t have to.  I can wear a flowey tunic dress that doesn’t accentuate my waist, if I like.  So there.  I don’t care about your abitrary rules, patriarchy/whoever else would like to become involved.  But likewise, there are things that other people can rock that I can’t – and that is awesome.  Why shouldn’t they?  Why shouldn’t we have options.

I mean, in reality we do.  But how many times have you heard someone say about someone else ‘that dress is so unflattering on her?’.  By which they mean, doesn’t hide her stomach, or you can’t tell that she has as much waist as she does, or it makes her boobs look MASSIVE.  Well, why shouldn’t it?  ‘Flattering’ should not mean ‘slimming’.  We already have a word for that!

Anyway.  In a completely random aside, I was reminded yesterday of the ‘Yes, we can’ mashup video.  And I watched it today, and it still made me emotional and hopeful.  Sure, things never turn out that neat or easy.  Sure, America is fucked and K Rudd isn’t the messiah.  But I dare you to listen to that speech, to watch those artists, and not feel a bit of a tear in your eye and joy in your heart.  I DOUBLE DOG DARE YOU:

*I really really love Shapely Prose and the comment ecology over there.  It shifted my whole view of the world I live in, and I sort of feel like it’s the centre of my part of the internet, now.  If you have never read it, I genuinelly encourage you to at least go have a look – it’s not just for fatties!

Brought to you by the letter P

for Puerile.

In case you thought it was all deep fat thought all the time around here.

I just reffered to someone’s moustache as their ‘mouth merkin’.  I am hideously pleased with this and think it is the most hilarious thing ever. 

No one else appears to share this view, least of all the person with said facial appendage.

I may have been reading too much Whoopee.  (You should too)

Clowns to the left of me…

I’m what is known in FA (fat acceptance) and fatshion circles as an in-betweenie.  This means that I am somewhere in the range of an aussie size 14-18.  It means I have big-girl issues with clothing (weird fit, darts hitting me in the wrong places, inappropriate styles available) but I can still shop in straight sized stores, although what I can find there may or may not be extremely limited, depending on the store, the season, current trends, how stretchy the clothes are or how willing I am to wear skin tight things. 

I was listening to fatcast last night and they were discussing what a plus size actually is.  They said it might start at maybe 14, but really their cutoff is about size 18 (depending on locale and other factors such as height and general body shape – it’s harder to find nice flattering things if you are large and live in China, or are a body shape that the fashion world dislikes).  I thought ‘but wait!  I’m a fat girl!  Why don’t you count meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee’.  I’m used to being told ‘don’t be silly, you’re not FAT!’ but usually by people thinner than me, and as code for ‘but I don’t find you repulsive!  And fat people are repulsive!’  I had a really strong reaction to being told by fat people that I couldn’t join that fat people club (which was not what they were saying, btw).  And then I had to look at my Thin Privilege.  Yes, yes I just said the P word, and also refered to myself as thin, IN THE SAME SENTENCE.

Right now, fads are doing me kind.  There is a lot of jersey and a lot of loose fitting, which means I can get into medium sizes a lot of the time, if there isn’t a large.  And tghe larges fit comfortably.  They don’t fit me the way the designer intended them to, but since the designer generally does not want to acknowledge that people my size or bigger exist, I am not particularly fussed about this.  Case in point, last week I went into Cotton On (being the only clothes store in town that is open after 5:15pm) and spent what I consider to be quite a lot of money there.  And then I reflected that actually, I spent less than the price of a dress I was looking at on the City Chic website, which I really liked but was clearly made out of some horrible acrylic fabric.  So then I felt better about that.

Let me put this another way.  I went into a trendy store, which caters for young people who want the latest trendy thing.  And I tried some stuff on and I bought a lot of it, because it looked good on me.  This is something that many fat people just cannot do.  Ever.

I bought three jersey pencil skirts – one in black, one in navy and one in black with little rosebuds on.  Tres trendy, and also reminds me of a dress I owned when I was five.  (Apparently the eighties are back.  Again.  Why won’t they die?)  I bought two tank dresses, one black and one navy and white striped.  (BIG HORIZONTAL STRIPES oh noes don’t I know that’s against the rules??)  I bought two light jersey cardigan thingies and four 3/4 sleeved tops in varying degrees of stripes and spots, with ruching on the sleeves so they have sort of eighties shoulders.  The things I bought were a mix of XL, L and medium.  This upped my wearable, work appropriate wardrobe by about half.  The only problem being that I need to get some fat girl stockings, because I generally only wear stay ups and knee highs, having been traumatised by going to a catholic girls school and the horrible brown tights (but was fortunate enough to learn the undies-on-the-outside trick for keeping them up).  But the skirts are really to short to wear to work without stockings, and the ones I have technically fit, but are mighty uncomfortable, and gusset hoiking is generally frowned on in public.

And here we are back to being in between.  A lot of stuff technically fits, for which – do not get me wrong! – I am eternally grateful.  If I went on holiday and my luggage got lost, I would not, as the lovely ladies on fatcast point out, be fucked.  I could walk into a store and buy something that fit me.  Even a gift store.  It might not be sartorially elegant, but I wouldn’t have to fashion a toga out of a beach towel or two.  There are clothes that fit me.  They are readily available.  They are affordable.  Sometimes they are even trendy or beautiful at the same time as being affordable and readily available.  I can shop in op shops and it isn’t that much more frustrating than for the average punter.  I can avoid ‘big girl’ clothes which are often badly made with a poor cut, from terrible acrylic material.

I’ve been looking at ASOS, which has a very lovely plus size section, much of which I covet.  I also covet most of their straight size section.  According to their size charts, I am smack bang between an 18, their last straight size, and a 20, their first plus size.  This is making trawling the site very annoying, because most of the time the top and bottom sizes are sold out.  And sometimes the straight sizes go up to 20, sometimes they only go up to 16.  If it’s something stretchy, I probably want an 18, and it isn’t I’d want a 20, but I have to look in two seperate sections so I can’t just pick one dress and choose the size.

Ok, so it’s annoying.  That’s a pretty low bar, I’m not saying that ASOS is oppressing me or anything.  And I really, truly do not want to underemphasise that I can go on a last minute shopping trip and find clothes that fit.  This is super important.  Plus, my proportional ‘hourglass’ body shape (apart from my annoyingly long waist) is the shape that about half of commercially available clothes are designed for (the other half being for people built like a pole) so that helps.

However. If we’re taking the fatcast cut off of a size 18 as canon (which they wouldn’t endorse, they fully admit it’s subjective etc) my recent weight gain has put me over the top, US sizes being a bit bigger than Aus sizes.  I believe I would now be a US size 20.  And I would absolutely say that there is a line, somewhere in the middle of a size 16.  When you are a 14 or a smaller 16, you can buy things on sale.  You can buy BRAS on sale.  You can buy bras with lace and colours, you can buy bathers, and more styles are open to you because things that are designed to be baggy are.  If you want to be ‘on trend’, you can, although depending on the trend it may be inadvisable as you will possibly look like an egg with two rubber bands around it.  But if the thing of the moment is tshirts with sparkles on, you can probably find one that you fit into.

From Married to the Sea

Once you hit a high 16, bras come in beige, beige, ‘bone’ beige and off white.  There are never any in your size left by the time the sales roll around.  The clothes that make the sale racks are all cut in a way that does not do your body any favours.  Things designed to be baggy are tight, even in your size, and things designed to be tight are TIGHT.  Things cling in the wrong places, darts are in weird spots.  Things get sized up without the proportions being revised, so they get weirdly massive in strange places.

Buying clothes can be a challenge for everyone.  Besides the venturing out into public and the spending of hard earned dollars, there is the social aspect of it.  What you wear says something about who you are.  They do – even if that thing is ‘it’s Sunday, and I’ll wear my uggboots to the shops if I damn well want too’.  Sometimes it’s hard to find the things that accurately represent you to the world.  That gets harder as your size gets larger. Not least because when some people look at you the first thing they will see is a fat person.  It’s tempting to dress to be invisible.  To be non threatening and part of the background.  Which is fine – frankly it’s relaxing.  But I find myself shying away form certain things, not because I think they will make me look bad, but because they will make me look FAT.  Not ‘unattractive’, which is what ‘fat’ is code for, more often than not.  but that if I show a bit of leg, people will see that it is a fat leg. Because, you know, they couldn’t have guessed that it was going to be a fat leg just from looking at the rest of me, no matter how covered that leg might be.

I don’t really think I should end this with another ‘FUCK YOU IM FAT AND IM NOT TAKING IT ANYMORE’ because I did that last time, and that’s not what this is about.  What this is about is ‘whatever.  This is my leg.  It’s fat.  It’s sexy. I will show exactly as much or as little of it as I choose.  Goodbye.’

I’m still not really ok with the nuggets I get in front of my armpits, though.  I’m working on that one.

I feel fat

It’s true.  I feel fat.

Well, ok, I am fat.  Last time I got weighed (when I went to the doctor, about… um… a year ago?) I was just shy of 90 kilos.  That put me one point into the ‘obese’ on the BMI scale… which admitedly is not at all a sensible scale – check out the BMI project.  Next time you hear about the ‘obesity epidemic’, we are the people they are talking about.  That would have made me about the same BMI as Kate Harding .

That’s not the problem.  I’m ok with being fat.  I’m ok with being large.  I’m NOT ok with the BMI system, but that’s a seperate argument.  I’m even ok, in theory, with the fact that I have put on weight.  I dunno what I weigh now, but that really isn’t the point.

The point is twofold.  One, I feel like crap.  I need to get off my butt, because I am stiff and crackly and I feel like an old lady.  But it’s cooooold!  And I’m laaaazy!  Anyway, that one’s gone on the to do list: ‘get off butt and do some sort of stretchy exercise and possibly ride to work a couple times a week even though it is cold and you are unfit and it is further than before and you do have to ride down scary South Road.’  I’ve been making an effort to eat better, too – what with all the renovating and moving, etc, I got into too many bad habits, and then the last week of work at the old place I gave up on breakfast (which I hate) altogether.  But I’ve been sitting myself down and making myself eat a proper breakfast, and cook a proper dinner.  I intend to continue this.  This is not about dieting (I just ate half a packet of jubie lollies and I am NOT SORRY so there) it’s about putting good things into my body and feeling good.  Along with the lollies, if I so chose.  So there.

The second point is, none of my clothes fit.

Most of my work skirts are hand me downs or op shop finds.  As such, when I got most of them they juuuuust fit.  Some of them, the high waisted ones, only fit if I only do them up to the waist, and left about 2cm unzipped.  But now, when I wear these, they sit funny and they are a bit tight and they are uncomfortable.  I sort of only clicked to this a couple of days ago, and then I realised why I had been so cranky lately.  Lack of excercise means I am tired, and don’t feel like I fit into my body.  It’s like it’s a meat suit I have to carry around.  And now that body does not fit into its clothes.

Let’s be clear.  It’s not that I don’t fit my clothes.  They don’t fit me.  I am not the wrong size.  My clothes are the wrong size for me.

The first place I put on weight (and lose it) is my stomach.  This is why my tops still fit (mostly – I need to have a purge of all the shirts that will never ever fit my built-for-carrying-shoulders properly, but that is unrelated to recent weight gain) but my skirts don’t.  I’m still skating between a 16 and an 18 on top, I could probably even wear a 14 if it was stretchy but below, I ain’t getting into anything less than an 18.  Or some pre stretched 16s, maybe.  I mean, my jeans (16) still fit, and my underwear (14s and 16s) do, too.  Yes, you needed to know about my underwear.  But anything with a rigid waistband is a bit of a squeeze.  Especially after lunch.

Because I am a crafter, I know my measurements.  Last I checked (probably about 6 months ago), they were 110, 95, 112.  Yes, I have that memorised, shuddup.  Now – and I mean RIGHT AS OF NOW, because I just this second went and measured myself in the work bathroom FOR YOU, INTERNET, that is HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU – they are 115, 105, 115.  So that’s 5cms added on top and bottom, and 10 in the middle.  Which changes my proportions, which changes how and where my clothes fit. And this is the important bit, because for me, my ‘weight’ and how ‘fat’ I feel is not about how much flesh I have on my body.  It’s not about my mass.  It isn’t, in fact, about my physical presence in the world as a body.  It is about how I feel about my body.  How I move in it, how my clothes fit me, how I feel in my clothes, how sexy and good and beautiful I feel.

At the moment, that is ‘not very well’.

So.  Something needs to change.  I’ve been reading fat fashion blogs as well as a couple of straight sized ones.  Because I’m fatter (or a different shape) than lots of the fatshion bloggers anyway.  And the point is to look nice, not to be thin.  And I’ve made a promise to myself to take better care of my insides by feeding them well and stretching them and all that.  And now I’m looking at my wardrobe.  (In my mind, I’m at work).  Some things – like the majority of my skirts – need to go on hold.  They need to be taken out of my wardrobe because every time I look at them, I see ‘you are the wrong shape and size’.  Which is a LIE.  So they can go live under the bed or something, since my waistline has fluctuated quite a bit in the last year or so they might fit again later.  Things like my shirts need to be tried on, assessed for comfort, and purged. 

Things that ARE THE WRONG SIZE are going.  I am staying.

And then… sigh.  I am going to have to acquire some new clothes.  This is something I dislike doing.  Hopefully it will involve sewing, but either way it will definitely involve angst and money.  And I dislike both of those aspects.  But I also dislike feelig lumpy, and I ALSO dislike wearing the same thing every day.  I enjoy picking out my costume for the day, and I want to be able to choose that costume from a wider array of goodies.  To wear outfits, not just some clothes I picked up off of the floor.  I want to have clothes that I consciously choose, not ones that fit, so whatever, I guess that’s as good as I’m getting.

I can’t do anything about all the thin people who tell me they are ‘soooo fat’ or who talk about ‘obesity epidemics’ or who say ‘oh, you’re good!’ when I have a salad for lunch.  But I can do something about my wardrobe.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go home and sew a hammer and sickle banner for a friend’s party.


Dudes.  I got my ravelry queue down to 4 pages.

This has not happened since… oh, about three hours after I first joined ravelry.

I went through and purged ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING that I didn’t think I’d knit, even if I loved it.  And all the things that, if I want to knit, I am just going to start knitting rather than looking in my queue because either I’ve already knit them (like Cobblestone) or they are ubiquitous in the knit world.  Or, for eg, all the socks, since I have knit exactly three socks (pairs of) ever and if I am going to knit more, I will probably just do a search for ‘socks’.  Even things I wanted to be suitable to my body shape and temperament but, if I was really honest, aren’t.  It was HARD.  I am a HOARDER.  I had to be very stern with myself, but now my queue is a useful tool! (Queue politician joke here)

Now it’s only for things that a) I am burning to knit because I love them b) I am pretty sure I want to knit at some point and also think I might forget about them in the meantime like gifts or house things and c) things that I think might be a bit boring to knit, just quietly, but that I think would look good on me or otherwise be useful. 

Lots more 8ply and 5ply stuff (and lots more short sleeves, for some reason) in part because there are more good 5ply, short sleeved patterns coming out these days.  I already have the yarn for some of this stuff, and when I finish Cinnibar and/or when my sister movesout (soooo ready for that to happen, have I mentioned that?  Then you can look forward to blog posts about how the house feels empty and I miss her.  Hoorah!) when that happens, I will get it out and look at it and decide what is next.  I suspect it may be Cecchetti.  I am determined to have more useful, flattering jumpers that I am in love with.  I am wearing Emily today, and I almost love it.  Except the line through the middle.  But the yarn is smooshy enough that I don’t care.  SO there.  I definitely need to get my hands on some more Bennet & Gregor wool, it’s certainly worth stashing a couple of jumpers’ worth of it.

(I just caught myself, lost in thought, staring into space and ‘cooshing’ my sleeve.  You know, where you pat it up and down so the softness goes ‘coosh, coosh, coosh’.  If you are going to Bendigo Sheep & Wool, or any other yarn show that might involve B&G, give them a visit, coosh their yarn, and then imagine it blocked and three times softer.  Then talk to the lady who runs it whose name escapes me but she is lovely and will reserve yarn for you if you need more, so that the colours are the same – it’s undyed wool but the clends sometimes change a bit.  Then buy lots of it, but leave some for me.)

Quite a few shawls and shawlettes in the queue, too.  I had convinced myself that they weren’t for me, and then I realised that I take my pashmina to work pretty much every day.  I wear it as a scarf with my jacket on the way there (it’s coooold!  Isn’t it awesome!  Except at night, then it is NOT awesome) because I don’t like actual scarfs because they don’t keep the top part of my neck warm, and then as a shawl in my office where it is too cold in the morning for just a shirt, and too warm in the afternoon for a jumper.  So a Damson or an Ishbel would be perfect.  I also should really start the Peak’s Island Hood, since I had plans to give that to the sister as a farewell gift for Ireland where it is cold.  And maybe some mittens, too, since when else am I going to have an excuse to knit mittens?

Maybe I’ll start Peak’s Island on the weekend, since she is away ALL WEEKEND and I have the house TO MYSELF HOORAH!  Although… seedstitch, ugh.  It better knit up quick!  And I do still have a few UFOs that need seeing to, but it’s nice to be able to see at a glance all the things that I can’t wait to knit.  All 112 of them.

Not a meme

I was going down the rabbit hole of the internet, and I came accross this post, which I thought was lovely.  And then I thought ‘poor imitation is what the internet is ABOUT’.  So here is my, not as good, version.

Has a wardrobe half filled with ‘office drag’: pencil skirts and tailored shirts, heels.  Is always wearing jeans and flats to work by Friday.  Owns lots of jewellery, rarely wears any.

Second drawer in office filing cabinet contains, at any given time: hand cream, sunblock, nueorofen, ipod cord, cough lollies, sanitary pads (same ones for 12 months) a spare mug.

Has piles of books to read.  Has piles of books half read, then forgotten, mostly trendy social histories, filtered through economics.  Has lots of DVDs but no television. 

Increasingly hates eating breakfast.  Cannot stomach solid food for at least a half an hour after waking up.  Requires shower to gain consciousness. 

Used to have policy of emptying entire coin section of purse when asked for money on the street.  Now there is usually more than ten dollars of coins in there.  Considers this a sign of great wealth.

Hates wearing shoes.  Will go barefoot at any chance.  Needs to sweep the floor more.

Sometimes stops abruptly and stand like a goon looking at light reflecting off of trees.  Is incapable of reading a sentence without proofreading it.  It’s, its.

Has blue hair.  Vacillates daily between thinking it is the coolest thing ever and having ennui about it.  Blue hair?  How Jejune…  Can’t think of anywhere she’d really like to travel.  Rather, would like to travel in general, no particular preference.

Visual learner.  Too much noise quickly becomes overstimulating.  Strong smells, also.  Public transport is increasingly a nightmare.

Perversely, misses smells.  The West is very clean and un-smelly.  In China, there was always something to smell, good or bad.

Cannot touch type in the true sense of the phrase.  Blames Mister Davies for this.  Still sleeps with her head propped on hand, fingers framing eyes, as shown in baby photos.

What I did on my holiday, part the first.

No photos for this one, as I didn’t take my camera out until I got to Sewjourn.  Deliberately, I was enjoying myself too much!

Since it’s been two long weeks since the holiday, this will be short, but I have the blogging guilt!  Besides, I’d like to blog about other things, and this is hanging over me. 

I flew into Melbourne at some goddawful hour.  I think I had to get up at 5am, or something daft.  By the time I got to Vic Hall where I was staying again, it was 10am.  Just time for a nap and then the Vic markets.  Lovely.  I bought a present for Emma, various trinkets for myself, and then I went to T2 and Smiggle (obligatory Melbourne stops, present for Anna and my sister) and apparently traipsed around THE WHOLE OF MELBOURNE.  And it was HOT, almost 30 degrees, and I only had jeans.  As I was making my way back to the hostel I got accosted by a young man who wanted to tell me all about bear baiting in Thailand or something.  I’m not entirely clear on this point, because I think I actually dozed off while standing upright on Swanston Street.  I am also pretty sure I was pulling funny faces at him – when I’m tired I can’t keep what I’m thinking off of my face, and I was thinking about things like, how nice a nap would be, and puppies, and how funny his eyebrows looked.

Poor man, he really was very sincere.  And I would have felt much more kindly towards him had his fellow ASPCA’ers been canvassing the entire city that week.  I think I got stopped about 10 times.  I also got asked for money a lot – is it just that there are more homeless people in Melbourne, that I was around in the city more than I usually am in Adelaide, or that my blue hair marks me as some sort of likely target?

Anyway, I extracted myself and managed another nap (the girl at the front desk laughed at me, I kept popping in and straight back out again) before meeting up with Bek for a lovely dinner and then desert and coffee in the Greek quarter.  It was lovely to have a really good natter, and we’ll do it again whenever her work sends her to Adelaide.  If only they’d stop sending her to Sydney!

Wednesday I had all to myself (bliss!) so I set off ALL AROUND MELBOURNE again.  I was looking for boots, and I had some in mind.  I’d seen some on the internet with buttons all the way up.  But I couldn’t find any, nor could I find ANY boots that I could cram my calves into, so I gave up and bought lots of knee high socks at Myers because they were having a sale, and that’s ALMOST like boots.  Also, I appear to do things like buy socks and underwear while on holiday.  It’s like some sort of sickness.

And then I did some more traipsing, and eventually found my way to Retrostar on Flinder’s Lane, where i proceeded to try on all the cowboy boots in the store, which turned out to be quite a lot.  And then I bought a pair of never-worn, vintage cowboy boots for $70 and I love them, even if they are a bit clompy.

And then that evening I went to go see Alice in Wonderland by myself which was lovely.  I do like movies.  It was my first 3D movie experience and I can’t say I was overwhelmed, although the bits around the credits were well done.  I’m not sure they were worth $4 extra, though.  But anyway, I quite liked the movie, although it didn’t knock my socks off.  And Stephen Fry as the Cheshire Cat was too delisciously cheeky.  I do love SF.  Look, here’s a video of him being embarrassed.

I wonder if he’d have my babies?

So, the next day was Thursday, and Sooz picked me up and drove me around a grand tour.  We went to the handspinners and weaver’s guild, where I bought some turqouise yarn (CONSISTENT, please, not predictable) and she bought some lovely slubby yarn which turned out not to be quite enough for a neckwarmer but we didn’t know that at the time.  And we ooed and aahed over the other things on offer.  Then we went to Rahtdown Remnants and then we went to Ink and Spindle and brought them pastries for morning tea.

Teegs showed off a dress she’d just finished, which was very impressive, and I got a bit hypnotised by watching them screenprint.  Very soothing.  My best friend in primary school’s parents owned (well, they still own it) a toy making company, and used to screen print shirts and the like as well.  Fascinating business, it is.  Then we choofed off to Clear It on Brunswick St because Teegs had seen the Allanah Hill fabric there and said it was great.  We inviegled her to join us because ‘we won’t be long, only ten minutes or so’.

Yeah.  I think we were there about two hours.  Pigs in mud would be the best discription.  There was squealling and perhaps a bit of wallowing and I came away with enough fabric that at the end of the trip I came in juuuuust under the weight allowance, through clever stuffing of my hand luggage.

And then we had to go pick Amy up from school and we went back to Sooz’s house and chatted a bit more before Janet’s partner G picked me up to stay at her house in preperation for the weekend!

Phew.  That was obviously the rushed version.  But I had a BLAST, especially on the Thursday, choofing around looking at things and nattering like crazy.  Days like that are too few and far between.