Returned from London, after a fantastic couple of days. Best Friend’s family are absolutely lovely, and were both willing to let us trail around the shops endlessly, having bolts of silks brought to us to sample, eventually cutting about thirty between us, and incredibly understanding that we were completely exhausted by this and were going to sleep for the rest of the day in our room rather than being decent company. They were also good about, when the topic inevitably turned to EDS, not opining, and just letting us share or not share as we felt up to it. And, best of all, when one or other of us lost a limb, they asked if we needed help, but acceped that we could help each other better than an outsider could.
Of course, after the four-hours-each-way car journey, I am now wrecked. Even though I was fast asleep for the whole journey each way due to the delightful effect of the cinnarizine, I was still curled up in the foetal position for four hours, unable to stretch out or turn over. Today my spine is capital fucked, my hips won’t stop twitching, and three days without laxatives has had the expected effect.
The headline, though, is still that I now have three metres of lime green silk chiffon which doesn’t so much look like fabric as like a glitch in the fabric of reality, and which feels like the memory of waking up in clean sunlight next to a long-desired lover. It’s amazing, and I have no idea what to make from it.
There is a distinct possibility that I may just pile up all the fabrics (Dupion, satin, chiffon, brocade, all silk of course) and roll around in them naked whilst making gleeful little “Mine! All mine!” noises.
This also seems to have broken my bad streak on sewing – Having not made anything at all since last May, I took out the kit of parts I’d made up for a waistcoat some time in 2013, which I’d last even tried to work on during my last holiday as a hand-sewing project (I didn’t even start), and put it all together in an afternoon. All that’s left is the buttonholes and hand-sewing on the buttons themselves – Fifteen of them, one every inch, tiny little brass flowers. It’ll be lovely.
So, things are looking up.