Quilts. Better than bonfires.

You know when you break up with someone and you get a haircut, drink too many blue drinks and then buy new bed sheets? (Possibly not all at once, but I like to be efficient.) What do you do with the old ones?


I'm not really a ritual bonfire sort of person (and I think you need forms in triplicate to burn things in London anyway) so I made a quilt instead. 


It took a long time. I did it all by hand and my sewing moods are flighty. But now it's beautiful and snuggly and looked very pretty on the washing line other day.

Vince also likes it. Hence it having to be washed in the first place. (Well, that and a macaroni cheese incident we won't go into.)

My mother taught me how to quilt. She has one she started when she was pregnant with me which is still not finished, so I think I'm probably due a prize for overtaking her. Anyway, the interweb informs me that the sort of quilting I do is called English Paper Piecing. It is, I'm quite sure, a millionty times easier than most other sorts and requires a lot less measuring. It's also good because it means you don't have to faff about with batting. 


Gratuitous very quick sketch of Vince on the quilt, having an unusually peaceful moment. He's usually too bitey to draw.