All Toile And No Reward

Blister In The Thumb

2012-01-30T09:54:00.001+11:00

Over the weekend I incurred a devastating, debilitating sewing injury.

Oh I know, sewing is supposed to be a non-contact sport. Done inside, with cups of tea and biscuits. But people, it is DANGEROUS. There are SHARP things involved. Rotary cutters. Needles. Scissors. I tell you, I'm surprised that the emergency rooms haven't filled with people who've done themselves a mischief in this current resergence of craft.

So what's this incapacitating damage I have incurred? You can't see it in a photo, but I have a laaaaarge blister in my thumb.

Right in the middle of the tip. Right in the exact spot where you use your thumb to push the needle through three layers of fabric when you are hand-sewing the binding to a quilt. In exactly that spot.

This is my own fault, of course. This is what you get when you spend virtually all weekend hand-sewing binding to not just one, but two baby quilts.

The good news is that I have now finished the quilt for the Amateur Actress (photos to come). Hooray! It looks absolutely beautiful and may be my best quilt ever.

And the binding is now virtually completed on the baby quilt for my crafternoon friend The Design Diva as well.

This is what happens when you spend practically the entire weekend inside, on the sofa, doing needlework because your One True Love is off cycling up and down mountains in the country. You get a lot done.

The bad news is that I now cannot stand to pick up a needle again for quite some time.

This is something of an issue, to be honest, because I'd quite *like* to pick up a needle again as I have about 15 centimetres left on the second quilt and I am itching to get it done. I was so tired last night that I just threw it down and went to bed when I couldn't keep my eyes open any more.

This was a bad move, people, a bad move. I was obviously in some sort of focused zen-like state yesterday, concentrating so hard on doing nice neat little stitches and getting through the metres, because I felt no pain at all. Obviously my poor thumb was completely numb from exhaustion.

But today? Well, today when I picked up the needle, thinking I would just do a little bit before heading off to work .... well, then I knew ALL ABOUT MY THUMB, let me assure you.

The truth is evident: I need to rest my silly thumb. The poor thing needs convalescence time.

But .... just fifteen centimetres to go! Fifteen!! ........gah.

Strange Places My Cat Sits: on top of the suitcase, on top of the wardrobe

2012-01-28T02:53:00.000+11:00

A double entry this time, with honours to both Grimth and the Fathead.

They both like to climb into high places, and this effort on top of the wardrobe in my sewing room has to take the cake.

Apologies for the poor iPhone photos! (and yes, the room really is that colour.....)

Amaretti love

2012-01-27T01:42:00.003+11:00

I have a thing for Amaretti tins. Not the biscuits, just the tins.

I have two at home already ... and then, when I was out and about in Fitzroy the other day, I spied both of these in the Jasper Caffeine Dealers shop.

Aren't they beautiful? I just want to eat that shade of pistachio green.

CUSHION is a seven-letter word

2012-01-25T10:15:00.000+11:00

In between all the work on my baby quilts, I've taken some time out to make a few of these cushions as well.

I'm a Scrabble fan from way back, so when I saw the new range of merchandise the Scrabble people have released, I jumped on the fabric. And just about everyone I know got a Scrabble mug for Christmas with their initial on it.

They're actually tea-towels, printed on linen, in the same size as the Scrabble board itself (that's 60 x 60 inches for those who aren't as nerdy as I am). I've backed them in a gorgeous black and white ticking, and each cushion has a zip so the cover can be washed as well.

I am in love with them. I think they are the ultimate in geek chic.

Oh my goodness, chair of my heart!

2012-01-24T14:23:00.001+11:00

Okay, so I saw this chair on Pinterest recently (I'm getting addicted, it's an absolute feast for the eyes).

I want it. I need it. I MUST HAVE IT.

At the very least, I want to know what fabric that is. I have a new two-seat sofa in EXACTLY (exactly!) the same shape that would look perfect in this coat. It is currently upholstered in a horrible neutral linen that I'm sure is very lovely and tasteful, but I cannot abide it.

I followed all the pins back to the source and found that the image was originally posted on tumblr .... without an acknowledgement.

I spent a good three hours on the interwebs trying to find it. And then, at last, success! It comes from www.grahamandgreen.co.uk. That's the good news.

The bad news is that the customer service people aren't allowed to tell me who their supplier is. One kind woman disclosed that it is a suzani print that is produced in India, but ... well, India is a big place, isn't it, and I've no idea how to even go about trying to find it in that vast country.

I am sad. This is my perfect fabric.

Please excuse me while I go and sit in my horrible linen sofa and sob a little.

The Kaffe Fassett quilt progresses ....

2012-01-23T09:43:00.000+11:00

some of the fabrics I'm using in the Amateur Actresses' quilt

So I was awake early this morning, and by 5.02am I was at the sewing machine. Is that crazy?

I've been making excellent progress on the Kaffe Fassett baby quilt for the Amateur Actress, you see, and sometimes when everything is going really well and the colours are wonderfull and I feel my workmanship is is good, I get the urge to craft as much as possible. It's being on a roll, I guess.

I want this quilt to be really good. Really, really good. It's her first child and a much-anticipated baby, and I want to give her a fabulous present to say well done.

So I've taken lots of care selecting the fabrics, and I was very uptight about cutting out squares that were exactly six inches on each side, and I laid out the patches four or five different ways until I got the right combination of patterns and colours. Then I pinned. Readers, I pinned a lot.

I sewed the strips together with more patience than usual, and I did an endless amount of pressing all the seams in one direction.

I even went to the extent of buying the really nice bamboo cotton wadding for the centre of the quilt sandwich. Normally I just use the polyfil wadding - it's good and puffy and feels lovely - but it's a horror to work with. I always find the fabric bunches up oddly when I'm actually quilting it, and it pulls the nice straight lines out of whack.

I did not want to give the Amateur Actress an out of whack quilt that looked like I'd thrown it together. So I bought the good wadding instead.

Last night I laid it all out on the floor, and accompanied by a number of very helpful pussins, started assembling the quilt sandwich. Backing fabric on the floor first. Smooth it all out. Then bamboo wadding on top of that. Smooth it all out. Pin. A lot. Cut out bamboo wadding with a bit of room around the edges. Then ever-so-gently lay the quilt top on top of everything while holding Grimth at bay with elbow.

It was a bit challenging, as the quilt top is EXACTLY the width of the backing fabric I'm using (Amy Butler's flannel from the Love collection) and of course I'd cut the bamboo wadding a bit wider for safety's sake, so I had to somehow magically see through the wadding and ensure the edges of the backing and top were exactly together.

There was no room for error. Everything had to be perfectly aligned. Per-fect-ly. Let me just say this: four pins per six-inch square - one on every side, to hold everything exactly in place. It was the quilty equivalent of one of those cages they put people's heads in when they've had brain surgery. (hm, have I drawn too long an analogical bow there?).

Anyway, as I put the last pin into place and stood up to stretch my aching back, the clock struck ten and it was time to go to bed.

When I woke up this morning I was all full of anticipation at actually doing the quilting part - so there I was, at 5.02am, stitching in the ditch.

And can I just say, that two strips in, things are looking very good indeed .....

Strange Places My Cat Sits: in the succulent picture frame

2012-01-21T09:44:00.016+11:00

Ah, the Grimth. He does so love to sit in strange places.

This is a picture frame which I put a backing on to create a shallow "pot". I sowed it with succulent seedlings so I that I could hang it up on the garden wall, a la designer-garden style.

Suffice to say that no succulents have survived. It is now a very expensive cat seat. And doesn't he look happy to be photographed on it?!

Time to take the wreath down

2012-01-19T08:43:00.000+11:00

It's well past Christmas now, and so it's time to take the wreath down.

I really like this one, and I really feel like leaving it up, because every time I look at it I think of boiled lollies or chocolate freckles or smarties, and it reminds me of childhood and happiness. Obviously I associate childhood with chocolate.

But if I leave it up there, it won't be special at Christmas time, will it?

And I suppose part of loving things means appreciating them at the right time and not taking them for granted. (Hm, sounds like a life lesson snuck in there somewhere.)

I got the idea for this wreath from the famous tutorial on Pickles - I knew straightaway that I wanted to try it.

It was a long project and I have the calluses to show for it - in addition to stringing the felt balls, I also anchored every individual ball to the styrofoam wreath with a metal dressmakers' pin, for added security. It was worth it. It's a wonderful object to be greeted by when I get home, and everyone who comes to visit has commented on it.

If you want a felt ball wreath like this for Christmas 2012 .... then let me know now! They take forever to make .

Here are some other great felt ball wreaths - and the first picture is of the original Pickles one:

image from here

Crafty Goals List for 2012

2012-01-17T10:56:00.028+11:00

Baby quilt for the Amateur Actress
Baby quilt for Beck
Baby quilt for the Headmistress
Cup of tea and a lie down after three baby quilts in quick succession
Complete the massive postage stamp quilt I started early last year. I was doing fine until I realised I'd accidentally doubled the recipe and was now making the quilt twice as big as it needed to be. King-size. In three-inch squares. That's a lot of seams. It's been stuffed into the back of a drawer (a big drawer) for months now, because I get a cold shiver every time I even think about going back to it.
Curlicue Crush quilt as posted on a few days ago
Complete a patchwork screen using the antique wooden frame that's shoved into a corner of the sewing room and has been unused for years. In the hope of selling it at a market later in the year.
Start the Autumn Daze quilt from Kaffe Fassett's Quilt Romance book - picture at the top of this post.
Bit of a breakdown as I realise doing all those quilts is probably impossible, and why do I always set my sights on unattainable goals and is this a major character flaw and do I set myself up for failure this way and why can't I just live more in the now without having to constantly achieve, achieve, achieve; ...valium now please.
Finish those grey wool pants I cut out in the middle of winter last year ... sigh ....
Put up shelves in my sewing room so that my wondrous and ever-growing collection of lovely new and vintage tins can be displayed to its best advantage so that I can actually see and enjoy them. Right now they are piled on top of each other in a heap on the sewing table.
Make a curtain for the sewing room window. It's been naked-of-curtain for more than 18 months now and I can't stand another winter without one.
Organise myself for a destash sale. Gulp.
Get Etsy sorted out. With current stock. Take some damn pictures, Flickettysplits!
Start blogging again. Oh, I've done that one! Tick that box. Only fourteen to go .....

Neither positive nor negative .... just neutral.

2012-01-16T13:17:00.000+11:00

On the aforementioned Crafty Goals List for 2012 are a number of quilts, of which about half are baby quilts this year.

I have three pregnant friends you see, and as dire luck and happenstance would have it, all of these friends are due within a six-week time frame of each other. So to say that I have a mountain of work ahead of me in the next month (the first baby is due to arrive on February 12) is probably an understatement.

Luckily my baby quilts are a little bigger than a metre square, so they don't take too much time to put together. And two of the suckers are easy-peasy:

Number One is going to be a classic mix of new and vintage fabrics in a wonderfully clashing range of colours and textures
Number Two is going to be made up of Kaffe Fassett materials that are as bright as possible.

It's Number Three quilt that is posing a little more of a problem. It's for the Headmistress - she of perfect taste and quiet restraint. The Headmistress lives in a beautiful house which is elegantly decorated in neutrals.

Neutrals. That's the crux of the issue.

I don't do neutrals. I don't know how. And I don't have any neutral fabrics in my stash.

The dilemma is actually causing me heartache. I want to start on her quilt but I haven't any fabric! I'm going to have to find a shop that specialises in elegant and refined neutrals - and I haven't the faintest idea of where to start. Can anyone help?

Maybe I could order something like this fabric set - it's in the lovely French Provincial style that French General do so well. It's about as close to neutral as I can stand.

Many years ago I was in an Indian restaurant with a vegetarian friend, and he ordered a vegetarian curry. And when the curry arrived, it had chicken in it. And when my friend called the waiter over and politely asked how chicken could have found its way into his vegetarian curry, the Indian waiter waggled his head and said "oh but sir, in many parts of India chicken is considered a vegetable".... !!

I feel a bit the same way. Red is a neutral isn't it???

Strange Places My Cat Sits: the gymwear cubby

2012-01-14T09:44:00.005+11:00

I am the Fatpuss. I do like to sit in strange places. I am especially fond of a small, confined area ... though it often takes some effort to squeeze in my great bulk.

I am not the devil, however. I looked straight at the camera and got laser eyes as a consequence.

I like to climb into this cubby and push out all the clothes onto the floor, leaving just enough to cover the bottom and make a snug little nest.

I then proceed to put my furs all over the clothes. It is only right and proper. Good night .....

Deadly Night-shirt

2012-01-13T10:36:00.012+11:00

I use "deadly" here in the slang form popular in the Top End of Australia, where it's equivalent to wicked, sick, etc. It's another word for awesome.

I do not use it in the traditional and purely empirical sense as in "this nightshirt will kill you". It's for my father, after all.

Dad had only one request for Christmas (the Christmas just gone). His current crop of nightshirts are well worn and he was after some new ones. So mum brought down an old one a few months ago and I cut it up to make a pattern, planning to make Dad two new nightshirts in time for Christmas.

Well, of course that didn't happen, did it? Work got busy, as it always does, and before I knew it, Christmas had come and gone and no nightshirts were evident.

So top of my Crafty Goals for 2012 list - I must actually divulge the contents of that list to you soon, as I seem to be referring to it rather often - was not just to finish this project, but to actually *start* it.

This is actually stage 1, test shirt. I really like the result, even though it has a few dodgy bits to it (sorry Dad).

And I especially like the fabric; it's a mish-mash of spice tins, mustard jars and other kitchenly items; as well as chemist stuff like camphor balm and throat lozenges.

This was perfect, because my father is a fantastic cook and spent many years lecturing in food technology, PLUS he is also a chemist (the scientific kind, not the pharmacy kind) so I feel it's highly appropriate. And I had just the right amount of yardage for exactly this shirt. It was meant to be.

I learnt a few lessons during the sewing process - ah, the fun of copying without pattern instructions - such as: do not forget to serge all seams before connecting sleeves to shirt body.

And also: affix the backing voile at the neckline seam before sewing the front and back sides together, you idiot.

I believe that Nightshirt Number Two will be even deadlier as a consequence of this learning experience.

Baby quilt - with added baby

2012-01-12T03:27:00.000+11:00

Is there anything more satisfying than the smile of a happy customer?

It's the thing I love most about putting my craft out into the world. I work away at something, thinking Will they like it? Will they love it? Will they even use it?

Most times I never find out the answer to those questions - and then occasionally, a little piece of feedback arrives and makes me feel like I'm on top of the world.

At the top of this post is a baby quilt I made for a lovely customer who took it off to Malaysia for her new niece. I backed it in delightfully soft blush-pink corduroy, and sent it on its way.

And then a short time ago, an email arrived ..... and look what was inside it! Hooray!

And the mail fairy brought ....

2012-01-11T10:20:00.045+11:00

... new fabrics from Anna Maria Horner's Loulouthi collection! Loulouthi has it all - flannel, quilting cotton, laminate, voile, needleworks - and it's absolutely beautiful. These are quilting cottons, ready for a new project I'm about to start.

Sometimes a designer just hits all the right notes, and that's what I feel about this collection. Anna Maria, I'm your slave.

Of course, now I have to find room in my stash for this material. I am having some ... ahem, stash issues right now. I think it's because I had a long break from sewing last year (most of last year, in fact). So I have loads of fabric I'd expected to work my way through by now, still sitting exactly where I left it.

So this means two things:

I must sew much more this year. This should be easy to achieve, even if it's by default. I have three friends who are expecting babies within a six-week period, for example, so that's a baby quilt each. And I've booked in for a range of markets starting in March, so there's stock to produce for those. Plus, there are a number of items on my list of Crafty Goals for 2012 that are just for me; and some of those things are large and complicated quilts. All of this will use up plenty of fabric.
I think I need to have a destash sale. It pains me to say it, but it's true. I just have too much to deal with, Crafty Goals for 2012 notwithstanding. I am going to go through the stash and pull out some jewels to sell, so that I've got a bit more space and the pussins can safely enter the sewing room without fearing for their lives. Have you seen that show Hoarders on GEM, Wednesday nights at 9.30pm? It's a bit like that.

I feel cleaner already, just *thinking* about it. Now, to put the plan into action .... stay tuned .....

Curlique crush quilt

2012-01-10T01:20:00.001+11:00

After yesterday's Pinterest post, something's been playing on my mind. Did you look at the Pinterest board my cushions were on? It had something else wonderful on it too.

See this quilt? It's called Curlique Crush. I think I am in love with this quilt.

The shape of those pieces, the colours, the binding - it's all fabulous. The material is from Anna Maria Horner's Innocent Crush collection. If anyone would like to buy me an early birthday present, you can get the bundle of 22 fat quarters that it uses, right here. Don't hold back - it's on sale, too.

I've been wanting to try a quilt with curves for some time now. So far, all my quilting has been with straight (and ahem, not so straight) lines. The curve, however, is seductive.

So I think this is the quilt to start it off. I went straight to the website the photo came from, and discovered there is an online pattern available for just $10. A bargain! So of course I've bought it.

It's now officially on my list of Crafty Goals for 2012, which seems to be growing ever longer ......

My first Pinterest listing!

2012-01-09T01:24:00.000+11:00

Look - my patchwork cushions - they got Pinterested! I'm very proud of these cushions, they're so vibrant and cheerful to look at. Everytime I make one, I smile to see it.

Yay and thank you Tania. I love the collection she's put together.

A new series: Strange Places My Cat Sits

2012-01-07T01:47:00.003+11:00

Saturday is Caturday, as any good reader of I Can Has Cheezburger? knows.

And so in honour of Caturdays, I am introducing a new series. It will feature the three pussins - Podae, Fatpuss and the Grimth - but mainly the Grimth.

Grimth sits in many strange places. They are not the sort of spot that anyone would think comfortable. He loves to lie across something lumpy, or squeeze up into a tiny spot, or crook his head at an angle that makes you think his neck is broken.

He is a strange pussin. And thus was Strange Places My Cat Sits born.

Strange Places My Cat Sits: Ironing Board Leg

Introducing .... Prakash, the Indian Elephant

2012-01-06T01:26:00.003+11:00

Ladies and gentlemen, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Prakash, my new Ellyfump. He is an Indian Ellyfump, hence the Indian name.

I have named him in honour of my Indian tailor from Dubai, Mr Prakash. Mr Prakash made me many splendid outfits and deserves to be memorialised with an elephant.

Prakash is made with a wonderful Amy Butler home dec fabric called Bali Gate in Periwinkle, from the Love collection.

It's a cotton sateen fabric, heavier than the quilting weight, that makes it perfect for items that need a little more structure and strength.

Prakash stands about knee high, and of course his trunk is pointed upwards for luck.

He's pretty awesome.

Currently lusting after ....

2012-01-05T09:44:00.001+11:00

.... these items from Gorman .....

Moroccan - the table kind, not the Mariah Carey baby kind

2012-01-04T09:10:00.000+11:00

What kind of name for a baby is "Moroccan", I ask you? Of all the celebrity baby names I've heard recently, this one just about takes the stupid-cake. I can kinda sorta understand "Monroe" for her little girl, but Moroccan is just beyond silly. It's a descriptor, not a name.

When applied to a tiled table, like the one you see in the photos here, it makes sense. Let me illustrate:

"This is our new outdoor table. We had it made in Morocco. Therefore it is Moroccan. See the tiled Moroccan table."

That makes sense.

It's part of my new plan to pretty up the outdoor areas in our home so that we actually get to enjoy them, rather than just using them as dumping grounds for bikes and shoes and garden implements and bits of rubbish we can't be bothered getting rid of immediately.

I've wanted a tiled table for ages - our back deck gets the western sun in the afternoon, which makes it a) practically unbearable to be out on and b) a real challenge to have anything nice out there because the sun just weakens everything. Wood fades, cracks and then collapses in a pile of splinters. So no wood table for us.

This one was made for us specially. I like the style of tiling but see the yellow tiles? They're a special request. Usually the mjannah star pattern is made with red and beige tiles, but I am not a fan of beige. I was delighted when the supplier said they could request yellow tiles.

Now that summer is finally here, I am looking forward to sitting on our back deck and testing it out. Mariah Carey will not be invited.

Can anyone identify this fabric?

2012-01-03T13:10:00.001+11:00

Hello all, and happy new year!

You are currently reading one of my new year resolutions - to not let work get in the way of blogging as much as it did through 2011. (We'll see how long THAT lasts!)

Now, a task: can anyone identify this fabric? I spotted it on a cushion but have no idea who produces it or what it's called. I quite fancy getting some though, so if you can help out, please do ....

Shalom from Tel Aviv

2011-10-17T19:41:00.000+11:00

It seems only fitting that after such a long break from blogging - months! - that I should take up the metaphorical pen again from an exotic location.

And so I say shalom to you from Tel Aviv, Israel. I'm here for a couple of days, just passing through on my way to other exotic climes .... Portugal, Copenhagen, and then back to the warm embrace of Dubai for a week or so. How wonderful! I shall fit in a side trip to Bahrain to see the new baby and spot signs of the continuing Arab Spring resistance that continues there.

This is my first visit to Israel. I came close a few years ago when I spent a few days of Eid in Jordan - I stood on top of Mount Nebo (where Moses was apparently born) and looked at the sign the pointed to Jerusalem only 34 kilometres away beyond the Dead Sea.

But now I'm actually here, though in Tel Aviv instead. I do want to visit Jerusalem but when I suggested this to My One True Love he winced a little and said concernedly: How about having a massage in the hotel spa instead? I love his worries sometimes. It reminded me of when I told my mother I was going to move to Dubai for three months (three months that turned into nearly two years) and she said: If you want a holiday darling why don't you just go to Adelaide instead?

But no! Adelaide may well be the murder capital of Australia but I wanted adventure. The hotel spa might be nice but I want adventure!

Unfortunately though, this visit there isn't time to get to Jerusalem even though it's only a short distance away - I'm busy doing other things instead.

This morning, for example, I went for a 10km run along the shoreline of Tzuk Beach, and I'm pretty proud of that if I do say so myself. I may need to visit the hotel spa for a massage after all ... dearie me, could My One True Love's words be coming to life in front of me ....?

A new project in the making

2011-05-31T09:28:00.002+10:00

I quite randomly found these wonderful picture frames the other day. Aren't they lovely?

It was lunchtime at work. Usually I eat lunch at my desk, but on this day I rummaged around in my handbag and only managed to turn up a manky tissue, an old nail file, and my address book. Nothing nutritious there, and certainly no lunch in sight.

I clearly remembered getting my sprouts and tuna out of the fridge at home.... and then, just as clearly remembered walking out the front door without taking them with me. Oops

So a bought lunch was in order. I went out to the cafe in the back lane and ordered some sort of scrumptious toasted concoction, and while it was being prepared I went for a little amble to stretch my legs. Around the side and a few metres down the road, there was a warehouse sale on. And you know how I am about bargains, so naturally I went inside.

I did the classic window-shopper thing. Ho-ed and hum-ed my way around the space, picking things up and putting them down again. I saw a very nice bakers stand that I thought would look good on the back verandah, all potted out with spring flowers. But too big, at six feet there was no way I was going to be able to fit it in the car.

Just as I was on my way out, these frames caught my eye.Looking at the gorgeous carvings on corners made me feel all warm and curly inside.

So I bought as many as I could afford, because I have a plan in mind for them ....

Guilt trip from Grimth

2011-05-29T10:46:00.000+10:00

Grimth is sitting on the kitchen bench and giving me the death stare.

I think he's been reading my email. He knows I've had a series of bewildered enquiries from people about why I haven't been blogging, and he's guilting me out about it.

It's very disconcerting to be impaled by the eyes of a cute little furry animal.

I resolve to do better, readers. In between the new job and .... well, really it's just the new job, actually. I get home and I'm exhausted! In a happy, fulfilled kind of exhausted way, but nevertheless I'm generally asleep before you can say "internet".

It's fascinating to note though, that as my time for blogging and sewing has diminished,my desire to do so has exponentially increased. I find I'm a little more fractious, a little less patient, than I usually am when I have everything nicely in balance. As a rule I generally have a very long fuse; but when I'm out of whack this fuse gets a lot shorter.

So Grimth had better be careful!*

(note: this is an empty threat and employed as a dramatic device only. Please do not write me angry letters about animal cruelty. That cat has got it good, and he knows it.)

A little piece of Britain

2011-04-10T15:28:00.001+10:00

Ah, dear readers, the gentle and unspoken pressure of your expectation. Blank pages to fill for you! Thoughts to make into flesh!

Now that I am blogging again, I feel my sewing inspiration returning as well - because what is blogging without pictures? What is blogging without new projects to display? What, indeed?

And thus it was that this morning I put together a beautiful little cushion made from a 100% Irish linen vintage British tea towel. I love the really vibrant colours and the bold illustrations of this beauty. I found it up the road at a local op shop, and it was just crying out to be turned into something wonderful.

I know the tea towel in its original state was already both functional and beautiful, but I would have felt it a waste to just dry the dishes with it. Plus, My One True Love has this habit of wiping up coffee grains with the nearest tea towel to hand, and I couldn't bear to have this one stained. It's too pretty.

So now it's a gorgeous cushion cover; perfect for a boys' room or to remind you of that amazing year you had over there in The Old Country. My favourite bit is all the names of the stations in the London Underground.

I'm half-British, though I never spent a gap year there myself (actually, I never had a gap year at all), but somehow when I look at this one I just think of home.

It's because of the banana

2011-04-07T18:54:00.000+10:00

It's been six weeks.

The world has turned on its axis. Seasons have changed, from summer to autumn and from winter to spring. Thousands of miles have been traversed, and travelled back again.

Earthquakes have shaken us. Nuclear reactors have wept into the sea.

I've returned to Australia and left the Middle East uprising behind me. I have a new job, in a new industry, and for the first time in my life I'm working outside the CBD. I'm a bridesmaid in a very special wedding.

Boot camp is a constant. A baby has been born.

Today, I bought a banana for the first time in a very long time. It cost me Three Dollars And Fifteen Cents. For a single banana. Just the one.

And I thought: this online silence cannot continue! I must speak of this!

I have found my voice again.

Greetings from Abu Dhabi

2011-02-21T13:04:00.000+11:00

The beautiful Sheikh Zayed mosque in Abu Dhabi, picture from here

Greetings, dear readers, from the wonderful city of Abu Dhabi, where your glamorous internationally jetsetting blogger is currently ensconced in a lavish hotel suite (suite!) for a few days.

I'm here on a bit of a whirlwind trip, having flown in for a job interview - at their expense, thank goodness, not mine - and of course a bit of fabric shopping if I can fit it in. And if you know me at all, you know I'll fit that in.

It all happened rather quickly, so Saturday night saw me farewelling My One True Love at the aeroflot yet again. There is something very deja vu / error in the code about our farewells at the airport these days, as we've done so many of them. But farewell we did, and with a grin and a wave I was through the metal doors and into the newly redone area of the international departure space.

And it's lovely! They have a Cafe Vue there now, and my favourite store, which sells merino clothes and Metallicus, had a wonderful golden yellow scarf which I exercised considerable restraint to not buy. After all, I haven't got the job yet - and if I do get it, I'll hardly be needing a woollen scarf now, will I?

Before too long I was on the plane. In economy. In my seat. Which was broken. Noooooooo! True story, it didn't recline. I contemplated the prospect of a 14 hour overnight international journey sitting up ramrod straight as the hours went by, feeling my spine crumble into oatmeal. Oatmeal spiced with razors.

After a few quiet words with one of the stewardesses - during which I fluttered my proverbial eyelashes and mentioned the phrase "job interview" at least eleventy-six times, I was shown to a new seat. In the middle row of the plane. Where no one else was sitting. Four empty seats to myself ......... whoo hoo!!! In all of my flying hither and yon over the years, I have never, ever had an entire middle row to myself. It is a thing of myth and legend.

And so Project Nighty Night began. I put up all the armrests, arranged a number of fleecy airline blankets over me, created a little mound of pillows at just the perfect height, accepted a vodka and tonic, chased it down with a valium, and said goodbye to the world for the entire night. Slept like a baby.

And now here I am. I have five hours of interviews today (five....hours....) and I think that with the help of a little caffeine through the day, I should make it through relatively unscathed.

Wish me luck!

Postage Stamp Quilt

2011-02-18T16:07:00.000+11:00

Do you ever get that urge to sew, like I do? A feeling in the middle of you like something is crushing your insides and you just gottta create something?

Today, I am filled with inspiration. My sewing machine has been in its box for a full four weeks now (four! weeks!) and I can feel the urge getting louder and louder.

I've had a project in the back of my mind for a little while now, and it strikes me that this is the perfect time to begin it. It lives in this book, The Gentle Art Of Quilt-Making, by Jane Brocket. I love this book, because I have so many of the fabrics she uses in the quilts, it's as if she's inside my mind.

I adore the colours and textures of the projects she puts together, and the book itself is stunning. I used to pick it up and stroke it lovingly in the shops before I actually caved in and bought it. Tell me, have you ever seen a more lovely cover? (Ignore the glue stain, oops)

The pattern is called "Postage Stamp", and it puts all the squares on the diagonal, which brings a lot more movement into the quilt.

I've picked out sixteen fabrics from my stash, all in bluey-yellowy shades, and the weather has been so kind that I've been able to wash and dry them all.

I have a range of Joel Dewberry prints, Filigree Gallery, Michael Miller, Anna Maria Horner, Heather Bailey, and a couple of pieces I bought when I was in India a few years ago.

I'm really excited about beginning this project, it'll be my first quilt in a while. Can't talk, must start cutting 3 inch squares!

Blog blog ..... yawn....

2011-02-17T10:56:00.000+11:00

Yaaaaaaaawn!

That is not the yawn of a bored blogger. Oh no. That is the yawn of a sleepy blogger.

I've been back in Australia for around 10 days now. Hello Melbourne! Hello My One True Love! Hello pussins! Hello green green gardens and velvet lawns - sooo unusual for Melbourne in summer, but then, I understand most of Australia has been under water for months now, so that explains it.

Yes, I've been back for around 10 days, and unconscious with exhaustion and jetlag for the better part of that time. Bahrain is 8 hours behind Melbourne, so it's almost exactly a reverse timeframe. When I'm sleepy, I should be awake. When I'm awake, I should be asleep. I get hungry for cereal at dinner time.

Every day I try to get up at a reasonable hour.... and then I go back to sleep. It's hard, especially when the pussins are all warm and cuddly and curled up on the yellow silk coverlet. That is the best kind of superglue to keep me in bed.

But I am resolved; I WILL adjust to this timeframe. Today, or tomorrow ....before I fly back to Abu Dhabi for a few days. And then everything will be topsy turvy again. Sigh!

More pictures of Africa

2011-01-30T03:34:00.000+11:00

Pictures of Africa

2011-01-24T05:10:00.001+11:00

Astounding Addis Ababa

2011-01-22T05:09:00.001+11:00

After my first full day in Africa, my senses are whimpering for respite.

I’m not sure whether it’s the thick pollution; the crowds of unwashed humanity (such a change after the sterility of Bahrain); the overwhelming number of crippled, mangled, diseased and leprous people begging on the streets; or the sheer noise and, colour and volume of the population, but I’m ready to fall deeply into unconsciousness and shut it all out for a while.

I’m a little drink, I mean, drunk, on honey wine too, which doesn’t help. Known as tej, honey wine tastes like spoiled, fermented orange juice – with an aftertaste of ant. Mmmm. Ant.

I gratefully downed the full 500 mL I was poured at dinner at Yod Abyssinian, a loud and noisy restaurant where you can eat your fill of injera, the local food, while watching traditional Ethiopian tribal dancing – which is quite something to behold. The place was packed full of local people, except for the faranji – foreigners – in suits, who I presume work for one of the many NGOs who are headquartered here in Addis Ababa. I saw my first UN vehicle today, and check out this US aid sack being used as a rubbish bin.

But back to dinner: this is the kind of woven table made out of local grass that injera is served on, and here is a photo of the injera I had for dinner.

It took a while to get the technique of eating with my fingers (right hand only, NEVER use your left hand as that is reserved for less ahem, wholesome activities), but I managed to drop something on myself only once. I am absolutely stuffed …. I think what I really need is to lie down on the bed and moan a little. The honey wine had to find its way into the tiny gaps left in my stomach after I plugged the entire organ with goat meat, cabbage, and red bean chiro. Sooooo yummy – but now I hurt a bit. I haven’t been this full in ages.

There is much more to report, but I am about to head into deepest darkest Africa, where I’m told there may be internet ... and there may not be. I don't even know if these photos are going to upload properly, so I'll count myself lucky if I can connect at all.

So this may be my last post for a while, but rest assured – I am taking notes; and I will re-establish the lines of communication as soon as technology allows.

Here I am in Ethiopia

2011-01-20T18:47:00.000+11:00

It’s 1145pm, and the guesthouse I’m staying at here in Addis Ababa, described by my trusty Lonely Planet as being “clean, comfortable, and on a quiet side street”, has clearly metastasised a tumourous carbuncle of a nightclub since it passed that original inspection with a clean bill of health. Gah.

The volume of the African music that’s playing right outside on the street – an oh-so-subtle combination of heavy thundering bass, steel drums, and fast rhythms on saxophone and vocals – might as well be inside the room it’s so loud. I thank god for the earplugs I stuck into my bag. And that I’m only staying two nights.

Flying into Ethiopia was quite something – I was unaware that I’d booked on the inaugural Gulf Air flight to the country, so the trip was accompanied by press photographers, tv cameras, dignitaries and the cutting of golden ribbons with golden scissors. It all made us quite late for our departure, so the pilot did his best to make up time along the way, and on descent to our destination as we hurtled out of the sky towards the ground like a screaming metal missile, torn clouds streamed past my window in shreds as the whole plane shook and rattled and groaned with the effort. I briefly entertained visions of the headlines that would result from us exploding in a ferocious fireball as we re-entered the Earth’s atmosphere on our maiden flight – oh the spectacle. It would have been quite Titanic-esque in its irony.

When we touched down safely though, right on schedule, all the African women on board burst into wild applause and that high-pitched wailing sound called ululation: ai-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!

As the plane taxied to our gate, two firetrucks drove alongside us, spraying the plane in water like a giant aeronautical carwash. What the? Was it ceremonial, or a disease prevention measure, or were the press people just making sure the plane was all sparkly clean for the tv crews? Who knows.

On leaving the aircraft we were all handed an “inaugural flight” certificate, a Gulf Air pen (a nice heavy one in a box), and as we made our way down the stairs to the tarmac and the waiting red carpet, all of the ladies received a rose tied with a ribbon.

Then I spent forty minutes filling out arrival forms, changing Bahraini dinars into Ethiopian birr (at a rate of one to THIRTY-FOUR - about 25% less than what I should have gotten - a tip for anyone else who might be travelling here: wait til you get to the city and then go to Daschen Bank at the Sheraton Hotel!), buying a visit visa, and moving from one incorrect immigration queue to another, before finally making my way through and out the other side, almost falling into the arms of my driver with relief. Did I check that both my bags went into the boot of that car, dear readers? Oh yes I did! We’ll not be having any repeat of that Indian episode, thank you very much.

So here I am, in Africa at last, with another fantastic stamp in my passport and new adventures ahead of me. Ethiopia! Tick that box, baby!

(PS, the music is still going. Loudly. And a dog is howling along with it. Is there any point at all in going to bed, I wonder?)

I felt the Pakistan earthquake

2011-01-19T08:07:00.000+11:00

I thought I'd written my last post for my time in Bahrain ... until half an hour ago, when my entire apartment building was rocked by the earthquake that hit southern Pakistan.

At a magnitude of 7.4 on the Richter scale, an earthquake like this can cause widespread damage. Here in Manama, I could see the walls moving as the whole structure swayed from side to side; and I was actually bounced around on the sofa a little bit.

It lasted around 9-10 seconds - which is actually quite a long time when you're freaking out that the building might collapse and bury you in a pile of rubble on your very last day in the country, you know?

Ordinarily I'd have been in bed asleep and would have missed the whole thing, but tonight I was up late getting ready for my flight to Ethiopia. And ok, I was watching some terrible US reality tv while I did it.

First I thought it was in my head, but then I heard the noise of my water glasses rattling in their cupboard - so I googled it (where would we be without Google??) and within a few minutes I could see reports of the Pakistani epicentre coming in. Apparently it was a shallow quake, only 10km below the surface. I don't know if that means you feel it more, or less, than if the epicentre is lower down?

So after a minor panic that I might DIE in a collapsed building on the eve of actually flying out of the country, my nerves settled down again when there was no escalation of the tremor and I haven't felt one since.

Whew. My heart is in my throat.

Farewell from RAMEE SUITES-2

2011-01-19T04:09:00.007+11:00

It's my last day in Manama, Bahrain. Tonight, I'm off to Ethiopia for a while, before heading back to Australia. I'm hoping to post a few times while I'm in Africa, but we'll have to see what the internet connections are like ... .

My three months here have gone past like lightning. I've made new friends, visited new places, done new things - and bought lots (and lots!) of new fabric.

In honour of my final day, I felt it was time to introduce you to the many moods of my constant companion during my time here. Ever steady, ever present, ever glowing, ever faithfully red.

Bahrain, RAMEE SUITES-2 and I bid you a fond farewell.

Last minute panic-buying

2011-01-18T01:02:00.001+11:00

I stepped into the sunlight today and thought again about how I'm leaving in two days' time.

Leaving behind (both here and in Dubai) my tailor, my favourite fabric shops, my notions guy, the souq .... and I got a little bit panicky. I'm leaving! Leaving all this fabric!

So I ducked into a nearby shop - one I've walked past but never been into before - and picked up this amazing silk fabric. It's Indian, and made by stitching together lots of different embroidered borders. It has sequins, metallic threads, beads and ribbons all through it.

I bought two metres (oh, such restraint!) - one of each of a different kind. The first has more shimmer and sparkle than the others. I've no idea what I'm going to use it for .... I would loooove a tailored coat made out of it, but I would need at least double this - about 4 metres - and at $50 a metre that's just a bridge too far, I'm afraid. So two metres will have to do me, and it'll force me to be creative in the way I use it.

I love this fabric, and I think it's the perfect purchase to finalise my stay here in Bahrain. Long live Bahrain!

Pictures of Manama

2011-01-17T05:34:00.002+11:00

It occurred to me today, as I was at the salon for a waxing appointment and purposefully thinking of other things while my beauty needs were being fiercely attended to, that I have never posted any pictures of the place I have lived for the past three months.

Oh, you've seen the porno palace, and the souq, and various other bits and pieces, but I've never shown you a panorama.

So here are some pictures of Manama, where I have spent the better part of the past 13 weeks. The sea sparkles turquoise and aqua most days, and it's an interesting mix of high-rise skyscrapers, old harbours filled with fishing dhows that go out every afternoon at 430pm, vast stretches of desert, building sites, and roads that stretch off into the distance ....

Moving on from Manama

2011-01-14T02:30:00.000+11:00

I love the way time stretches like elastic.

Some days seem like weeks, some months seem like days. A minute can stretch for an hour, or an hour can go past in the twitch of a cats' whiskers.

It's a kind of liberation, to be at the mercy of time in this way. And there's no way of knowing which way it's going to go.

My time here in Bahrain is coming to a close - I've less than a week left at this point. Three months has gone past faster than I ever imagined it would. I've lived in the porno palace for 12 weeks. I've had my little Nissan Sunny for 12 weeks. I've bought 12 years' worth of fabric and shipped it home to My One True Love.

I've visited Lebanon, the UAE, and Egypt - and next week I'm off to Qatar, and then Ethiopia for 10 days before coming home to Melbourne.

I wonder if I'm going to miss Bahrain? I'm going to miss the friends I've made, that's certain. I'll miss the porno palace and RAMEE SUITES-2. I'll miss having my flat cleaned twice a week, and the man who parks my car for me in the carpark. I'll miss the glare of the Middle Eastern sun. I'll miss the sense of excitement of being here.

There are some things to do before I finish up here, though. I have to pick up my abaya from the tailor in the souq - and I'm trying to find a niqab (the veil that cover your face but not your eyes). There is boozy brunch tomorrow at the Movenpick hotel, with some of the girls. There is Moroccan bath and massage at the salon on Saturday. There is breakfast on Sunday with my Syrian friends, and there is farewell cake on Monday!

I can't work out whether I'm sad about leaving, or happy about what comes next. I think it's a bit of both.

The sad story of my magical Aladdin slippers

2011-01-13T06:50:00.001+11:00

Ah, shoes. Shoes, wonderful shoes. You all know I love shoes - I am the woman, after all, who has a shoe cupboard occupying the space in her master bedroom where the fireplace once was. Certainly, it was My One True Love's idea, but he did it for me. He ripped off the mantlepiece, pulled out the framing, removed the fireplace itself, hollowed out the cavity properly, and now I have a shoe cupboard in the cavity, and it reaches almost all the way to the ceiling.

So you might not think I need any more shoes. My One True Love would agree: he'd say Shoes! You don't need any more shoes! And I always laugh indulgently and admonish him by saying, It's not about need, My One True Love.

It comes as no surprise then, that I have been on the look out for some Arabian slippers since I arrived. You know the ones - Aladdin slippers, with the toes turned up and beautiful beading and embroidery all over them.

I love their gorgeous jewel-like colours - so pretty! I love the delicate stitching, and the metallic threads that are used to pick out the patterns.

I love the different fabrics - striped, spotted, or simply plain.

I love that they are perfect house slippers; definitely not the sort of thing you'd wear outdoors. No, these are for inside, for wearing in the afternoons and evenings, just because they're beautiful and you deserve something beautiful. Something that's just for home.

And it's for all those reasons that I am devastated to discover that these slippers Do Not Fit Me. I am not Cinderella when it comes to these shoes. I am the ugly stepsister in the fairytale, who would have to cut off a toe or a heel in order to slip her foot inside.

I must have tried on over thirty pairs in the past three months. But it's clear, they're all cut from the same mould, and their shape just doesn't fit my feet. They cramp my toes, or pinch my instep, or rub against my arches. I don't have massive feet, by the way, I'm a European size 37 (Australian 6.5). I don't have bad bunions or pointy heels. I have an odd toes on my right foot, for sure, but it's not the reason these shoes don't fit. They just .... don't.

So I will return home in three weeks, sadly slipper-less. My One True Love will no doubt be pleased, and the shoe cupboard will be glad not to have to find extra space behind its almost-bursting doors.

But I have these photos to comfort me, at least, and in my dreams my dainty feet will be shod in delicate, magical, fairytale Aladdin slippers.

Picturing Dubai

2011-01-10T20:58:00.001+11:00

The pictures show the rules of the 7 individual emirates that make up the United Arab Emirates - an emirate is like an independently ruled State - and logically, it's ruled by an emir. Abu Dhabi is the capital, Dubai is perhaps the best known. The other emirates are Ras al-Khaimah, Sharjah, Fujairah, Umm al-Quwain and Ajman.

Gorgeous lamps .... I'd fit out our whole house with these if I could!

This painting shows a woman wearing the traditional face covering, which was originally made out of camel leather and then gilded. It's not her face that she is covering up - no, in fact, it is the area of the upper lip that cannot be shown to anyone. It's very sensitive and extremely private.

An extreme "I Dream of Jeannie" moment with all these lamps ....

A beautiful Arabic coffee pot and cups.

Behind the camel is the image of Sheikh Mohammed Bin Rashid Al Maktoum, the ruler of Dubai.

I quite fancied this handmade Iranian hallway runner ... until I discovered it was priced at $50 000!!!

Shopping for clothes, Arabian-style.

The Emirates Towers, at sunset - I used to work here.

A Day in Dubai

2011-01-09T05:07:00.002+11:00

One of the great things about living in Bahrain is ..... being able to visit Dubai so easily!

In the eleven weeks I've been here, I've flown over to Dubai half a dozen times. The flight takes about an hour, and it's easy to go just for a day trip. So I've been doing exactly that - mainly to visit my tailor, with suitcases full of fabric and pictures of clothes I've pulled off the internet. And boy, has my wardrobe increased spectacularly as a result.

Dubai feels like home to me, because I lived there a few years ago; so walking around is just like being in my old neighbourhood. A lot of my favourite haunts are still there, though the city has also blossomed like an algal bloom - it's so much bigger than it was when I lived there. I can see the skeleton of the old city I used to know, but now it has a lot more meat on its bones.

And public transport! It has a metro skytrain that is the best I've ever experienced. The trains come every five minutes on the dot, and a trip costs between $1 and $2.50. I love it.

So yesterday I took the skytrain to the Burj Khalifa - the tallest tower in the world. "Burj" means tower in Arabic. It's located at the Dubai Mall, which is about the biggest mall in the world, too. I had to take two photos of it, because I couldn't fit it all in the viewfinder - the tower that is, not the mall.

Omg, words fails me

I wandered around the base of it, and saw a dramatic water fountain show, where there are a thousand water jets all choreographed to music - it sounds tacky, but it's actually quite amazing. I had lunch, and I saw a movie - Burlesue, with Cher, and Cristina Aguilera - and I did a little shopping, before heading off to visit Vinayk (my tailor) for a wardrobe update.

Ah, Dubai, I love you!

A Tim Gunn haunting

2011-01-06T04:55:00.001+11:00

I had a Project Runway nightmare last night. I don't mean this metaphorically - I had an honest to goodness nightmare, set right in the middle of Project Runway - and it was terrifying.

I'd been thinking about the series as I went to sleep. You know those thoughts you have when you're dropping off - kind of all over the place, but somehow linked? I was thinking about my mum, and how I've gotten her addicted to the series, and about my credit card (which was compromised and then cancelled last week so now I'm without funds over here), and about Amazon, which says I can order series 8 before it's released in February, and about my sewing machine which is being packed up this weekend .... and then I drifted off to sleep. And into my dream.

I was sitting in the audience of a live taping of the show, and halfway through it, Heidi Klum announced that six contestants had been chosen from the audience for a special challenge. These contestants, she announced, had previously submitted audition pieces; garments they'd created that show their own "unique point of view". (We know how Project Runway likes designers with "a unique point of view"!)

She read out a list of names, and to my utter surprise - mainly because I knew I had never submitted an audition piece - I was among them. Dear god, totally, TOTALLY out of my depth. And desperately afraid of being found out. And our challenge? It was one of those ones where you have to make a dress using unusual materials.

She sent us off to Lincraft (Lincraft! Oh, the irony!) to get our supplies. We had to take two taxis - this is where the dream started to resemble The Amazing Race a bit, clearly I watch too much reality tv, but I am unashamed of this - and our taxi took a shortcut but somehow we ended up blocks away from where we were meant to be.

But we bought all our supplies and I was raring to go, planning that I would make a dress out of black and white segments of stiff cardboard, like that famous dress years ago that was made out of gold American Express cards (there's the credit card reference, never mind that mine's a Visa!) held together with chain links - does anyone remember that dress?

I was thinking a cardboard version using a similar construction - but much more "mod" in style, like a Mondrian painting - would work on a skinny model, never on a real person of course with all her curves and bumps, but on those skinny Runway models it would be fine. A little strapless sheath, with contrasting handstitching in the seams as a design feature. Or covered in petals made from gorgeous Japanese wrapping papers, only Lincraft didn't have any in stock, and I was desperate for my wrapping paper box at home in Melbourne which has so many nice papers in it, but it was in Melbourne, and somehow this competition was taking place in Alexandria, in Egypt ....

The other two contestants with me wouldn't let me start on my piece, and decided we had to go to Lincraft where everyone else was. We got there somehow and I was stressing about how to create a pattern for my piece, when someone told me we'd been given a pattern block to work with. Everyone else was diving into the pile of patterns and opening them, cutting out the pieces, and as I ran over to get mine I saw that one young male contestant had already started piecing together his fabric - he was using striped French canvas, big pieces cut on the bias in green and white stripes and purple and white stripes. Another contestant was using yellow and white stripes and I realised I couldn't go with my original idea because it was too close to what they were doing, and they'd started first - if only I could have begun my piece when I wanted to, instead of letting my competitors hold me back! I was angry at myself for not trusting my instincts.

I started to get panicked. Time was slipping away, and I couldn't even open my pattern envelope and everyone else was getting so far ahead of me - well into the construction of the piece when I hadn't even cut out my blocks. I was so worried, I knew it was useless to even try and start a piece because everybody else was so far advanced, and I couldn't get the envelope, and my hopes were fading and I knew it was useless.

Then my pattern envelope sank into a bookcase, the books actually ate it up and I was reaching inside trying to pull it out - and it flew out suddenly, and a huge gust of wind came up and blew all the tissue pieces everyone, and suddenly Lincraft was a paddock, with tufts of grass and a cold overcast sky, and I was scrambling over the rocks trying to collect all my different block pieces and then Tim Gunn was saying "de-SIGN-ers, talk to me".

I showed him a drawing of what I planned to make, and he narrowed his eyes and looked it up and down, and my heart beat faster in my chest and I started to catch my breath and it began to hurt in my lungs, and my ears started to ring and then I woke up.

I woke up, and my heart was pounding, and I was actually panicked. The sensation was so real that it startled me into a full awakening.

I checked the clock, and it was 555am - so I didn't even have the luxury of trying to go back to sleep and forget it. I had to get up right away, feeling unbalanced and worried and stressed. It took me half the morning to shake the feeling.

Wow, it gave a whole new meaning to the idea of waking up with Tim Gunn. Shudder.

Wot I did on my New Year holiday

2011-01-05T02:43:00.001+11:00

I made ellyfumps!

There are six photos here, but there are only three elephants ... each one has different fabric on either side.

Love this psychedelic retro fabric I got in Beirut ....

....along with this mercerised cotton I got too

All pinks and blues and tiny florals ....

....make this ellyfump perfect for a little girl

While this one here is going....

to my Syrian friend who's expecting a boy in March

This is practically my last burst of sewing, as my sewing machine gets packed up and shipped home on Saturday this week.

I felt an obssessive need to fit in as much creativity as possible before it disappears from my life for three weeks. Is that an oxymoron? Forced creativity?

Seeing in the New Year in style

2011-01-03T23:30:00.002+11:00

In the end, I decided to see in the New Year in style. I might be here on my own, I might be missing My One True Love and the pussins with an ache that feels like a broken bone, I might not have any parties to go to because all my friends have gone home for the holiday - but dammit, that doesn't mean I have to sit in the porno palace on my own, I thought.

So I picked myself up, dusted myself down, and drove off to the best spa in town.

There's something very special about pampering yourself for no particular reason. I decided that I deserved a Moroccan bath, because it sounded especially decadent and exotic.And it was - oh, it was.

A Moroccan bath is similar to a traditional hammam experience. An Arabian hammam is a complex of rooms, with walls, floor and ceiling made out of marble, stone or tiles, and filled with steam. Traditionally there are three rooms - hot, breathlessly hot, and incandescent. You move from one to the other, sitting in wall niches or even lying on the floor, as the steam relaxes you and sweats you out and loosens all your horrid dead skin (uck). There are recessed bathing pools of water (they range in temperature from arctic, to cool, to hot, to scalding) that you plunge in an out of to wake yourself up/restore feeling to your limbs/boil yourself in. Then you can have any one of an infinite number of treatments - scrubs, rassoul, aloe vera, massage, etc etc.

I figured that after the week I've had, a massage was in order. So I got there early, put on my swimmers, and opened the door to the hammam- where the air was so thick with steam that I couldn't actually see, and I had to feel my way around by putting my hands on the hot, wet walls, a la Marcel Marceau.

I blindly found a wall niche and lay down to relax. The only sound was the slow drip of water from the ceiling to the marble floor, and the hiss of steam from the floor vents, and the heat was so extreme that I drifted into a sort of relaxed delirium, with my limbs like logs of pudding and my brain turned gently to "simmer". There was so much water pouring off me I couldn't tell what was steam, condensation or sweat. I was not capable of a single lucid thought. It was heavenly.

I spent the next 40 minutes alternately steaming myself silly at 49 degrees and plunging in and out of the hot and cold pools to recover and/or shock myself back into awakening. I was the only person there - no doubt because every other citizen in Bahrain was out having fun at a party - and it was fantastic, because I literally had the place to myself.

My masseuse eventually came and got me, and guided me into the massage room - she actually held my arm like I was a little baby, and put her hand in the small of my back, as a safety measure I think, explaining that after steam you can feel "like you fall down". Too true.

It's a wet room, because of the scrubbing, and they pipe steam in to keep you warm and open up your pores, and it was just magic. I had to strip off completely, and then she gave me a skin scrub so vigorous that it felt like it took off five layers of skin, followed by a shampoo and conditioning treatment, massage, and wash from head to toe.

After an hour and a half of being scrubbed, pummelled, massaged and washed, she stood me up, disappeared for a moment, came back with a bucket of iced water perfumed with rose oil, and doused me completely in it! I actually squealed like a little girl as the cold water hit me and took all the breath out of my lungs. She laughed at me and explained it was good for my pores and to smell nice. Which is no doubt true.

Then I got to put on a giant fluffy robe and slippers, got guided into a relaxation room like a baby again, was fed ginger tea and fresh fruit, and dozed happily for half an hour in the candlelight until I felt capable of actually standing up and getting dressed again. It was perfect - just what I needed.

And then I went home, watched a dvd and had my first alcohol-free New Year's Eve in ... well, perhaps my entire adult life, actually. And went to bed at 11pm because I couldn't keep my eyes open, so in the end I actually missed midnight.

Thus did I pass the New Year - and it was wonderful.

A dark night of the soul

2010-12-31T00:44:00.003+11:00

There are these days of hollowness, you know?

A day here, where everything falls down and down inside me and nothing reaches the bottom and I never fill up.

A day there, that seems magnified and concentrated, every minute an infinite vacuum, every word an assault, as if every grain of sand in the desert is rubbing off my top layer of skin and exposing the soul underneath. The skin a little peeled back.

You can tell when I have these days. Even if I didn't declare them, like I am now, you just have to look at my language, which becomes increasingly more florid as I search for ways to bring this feeling to life before you, so that you can glimpse, even briefly, the sheer futility I feel even trying to do so.

It's at times like this that I step outside myself and think: what am I doing? What am I doing here, 12,000 miles from home, from My One True Love, from the Sister Of My Heart, from my parents, my friends, the pussins? What on earth possessed me?

I know that for me, part of being an adventurer means balancing - and accepting - these days. That having the courage (or foolishness) to step off a cliff into the unknown means being prepared to face the ground rushing up at you.

I love stepping off into the unknown. I love it - the thrill, the excitement, the surge of feeling that I'm doing something amazing. And so these days are just as much part of me as the inner desire that sends me looking for that feeling.

So I continue.

I drag myself through them, knowing that tomorrow, or the day after, it'll be as if they never happened. And that in the remembering, it make the present sweeter.

Christmas Eve in the porno palace

2010-12-25T04:22:00.002+11:00

Christmas Eve in the Porno Palace - menu:

Double vodka cocktails (2) - 1 with mangosteen juice (yum), 1 with diet coke (ugh), hic on both counts
Cadbury chocolate biscuits (73 - feels like)
Krispy Kreme christmas pudding donuts (1)
Project Runway episodes (2, courtesy of cable tv)
Educational tv documentaires (1, Michael Palin in Sahara, how appropriate)
Christmas carols (0)
Loved ones (0)
Pussins (0)
Presents (0)
Sighs of yearning (139)

Still sick. More photos.

2010-12-23T05:11:00.000+11:00

Tourist tat by the seaside - but haven't I made it look good!

Very New-York-esque Alexandria taxi and street mosaic

Secondhand clothes for sale in the market

Smiley girl despite the piles of rubbish

More tourist tat

Inside Fort Qaitbey, originally the site of the Pharos lighthouse, one of the ancient 7 Wonders of the World

Gabled roof of bricks inside the fort

Outside the fort


Modern medicine in Egypt ... hmmm .....

For sale in the souq

Mirror mirror, on the wall ....

Souq street scene

Egyptian fashion - of sorts.

More pictures of Egypt

2010-12-22T01:01:00.004+11:00

I have a cold today. Sniffle, sniffle, snort. I picked it up on the plane home from Alexandria (boo!).

So I offer you photos instead of words, as my brain is too fuzzy to write.

Fresh coffee beans at Sofianopoulos

Coffee bean close-up

Dancing harem girl motif

Coffee and .... nesquik

Roasting the beans - it was deafening in there!

Once the beans are roasted, they're round

Flower seller taking the thorns off the rose stems

Alexandrian equivalent of Bunnings

Trying to decide which shoes to buy

Market men pausing for a shisha

Freshly milled flour for sale

Old dude in old clothes

Local furniture shop - the alley!

Washing day near the catacombs

Streetside pool table

The pussins of Alexandria

2010-12-21T03:55:00.000+11:00

Alexandria is a cat's paradise. Warm for most of the year, strewn with rubbish and detritus to eat and play with, and plenty of hidey-holes to sleep in.

Walking along the Corniche on our first morning I was struck by the number of pussins sunning themselves on the rocks along the shore of the beach. Cats to the left of us, cats to the right of us, cats all round us.

I have NEVER in my life seen cats on the seashore before. Or near water like this. And we all know cats don't like water, but these babies didn't seem to mind at all - in fact they seemed to be relishing it.

I think it's partly because Alexandria is a fishing centre and port, so there must be lots of fishy scraps and goodies around to eat. If you're going to be a feral cat - and if not feral, then definitely not "owned" by anyone, or cared for in any way - then a fishing port is probably the best place you could be.

Certainly, the cats by the seaside were in much better condition than the ones in the centre of the city. Glossy, sleek, well muscled - they were in fine fettle.

They all had lovely sunny spots to sleep in.

Some of them were more camera shy than others.

But mostly, they looked pretty pleased with their lot.

I think the White Witch reckons I'm mad ... these photos are less than half of the ones I actually took ...

Picturing Egypt

2010-12-18T18:52:00.000+11:00

One of the few remaining pieces of ancient statuary, now outside the Alexandria Blibliotheque

In the backalley souq


Fishing boat, in the Mediterranean Sea


Seaside pussins

They don't look it, but these boys were actually very nice and friendly


pegs for sale in the souq

View of Alexandria from the Corniche

Well Alexandria, things are looking up

2010-12-17T05:03:00.001+11:00

Ugh. I'm glad we left.

We weren't really enjoying the Hotel Acropole last night ... and this morning, I'm not sure whether the last straw was the unflushed putrescent mess that greeted me in the communal toilet, or the revolting pools of water and hair all over the tiled floor of the bathroom.

Either way, we took an immediate decision to bail on our booking and shift hotels. Luckily for us, right across the road was the Hotel Triomphe - and this time, we asked specifically for a room with an ensuite bathroom; AND, we asked to see it before we signed up.

Room viewed and approved, we ran back across the road, collected our bags, vanished down the four flights of stairs (avoiding the death-trap of a lift, see the photos below), and promptly checked ourselves into the Triomphe. It's very Agatha Christie here, with wrought ironwork and shabby furniture and lovely ancient cracked marble floors and derelict bits of art deco architecture and two very nice old men who look after it. We are much happier.

Exhibit A: death trap.

Exhibit B: deaaaaaath traaaaaap!

In fact, today we are much happier all around - it's been spectacular. Once the hotel was sorted out, we started things off with this - a Turkish coffee so thick you could practically have stood a spoon up in it. Now that's more like it.

More to come tomorrow. But now, it's time for beer.

Hello Alexandria, you're crap so far

2010-12-16T06:46:00.000+11:00

....but well, perhaps it's too early to judge.

In defence of this city - the former capital of Egypt, the seat of Egyptian power under Cleopatra and Roman power under Alexander the Great, the home of the legendary Library of Alexandria and lighthouse - it's not actually Alexandria's fault.

If the holiday the White Witch and I had in Lebanon was a perfect example of kismet and wondrous serendipity, this one is (so far) a little of the opposite.

First of all, we are in the Hotel Acropole, which has one star under the Egyptian ratings system. One.

It's slightly better than the room I had in Palmyra, Syria, where there was a rocket shell-sized hole in the concrete wall that let the freezing Syrian air in.... but not much. Four flights of marble stairs, because the lift is a dilapidated old thing with an open shaft, a rusty pulley, and doors that don't close, so you are open to the air around you as you creak slowly upwards. Like, falling-out open to the air around you. Eek.

And the room, which apparently hasn't been cleaned since Cleopatra was empress here, has rock hard beds (good), a lovely sea view (good), faces onto the Midan Saad Zaghoul (which is terribly, terribly noisy) and the whole place looks as though it might go up in flames at any minute due to the shoddy electrics on the wall next to my bed (bad, not surprisingly).

I submit photographic evidence here, so that if in fact the place does explode in a ball of fire while we're here, one of you can produce it triumphantly when you sue the hotel management for negligence and wrongful death, on my behalf.

And, we have a shared bathroom. This will be one of those hotel stays we look back on fondly and laugh about. I hope.

To add insult to injury, I managed to very carefully pack my suitcase last night in Bahrain, and very carefully charged my camera battery, and very carefully put the camera battery back into the camera - and then completely forgot to pack the charger itself. So I had to go out and spent $70 US dollars on a new one the minute after we had checked into our room. Sigh.

It annoyed me, too, because the last time I was in Egypt - Cairo, Luxor and Aswan - in 2004 with My One True Love, the camera I had at that time was a film one, and it was on its last legs, and it only took about every fifth shot I tried to capture. I was really looking forward to getting some good pics of Egypt this time! So to leave my charger behind ... well, I wasn't very happy with myself.

But here we are, for four days, and we plan to make the most of it. We'd like to see the catacombs, the new Library, perhaps make a day trip to Rosetta (where they found the famous Rosetta Stone that is now in the British Museum), visit the souqs, and take in a bit of Alexandrian life.

So far we've enjoyed a local Stella beer in the very posh Cecil Hotel, we visited one of the famous chocolate shops here, and taken in a film at a run-down old cinema. Which isn't bad for our first night.

Now we're yawning, so it's time for bed .... more - and better - adventures tomorrow.

Get thee to an H&M store!

2010-12-15T05:47:00.001+11:00

Cough, cough. Cough. Pardon me while I splutter out all the sand in my mouth. You'll be happy to know I've survived the sandstorm - the gale force winds, the sting of sand blasting my skin, the Marilyn Monroe moment this morning when I thought my skirt was going to go over my head - I'm safe and sound.

And just about the very next thing I'm going to do is go to H&M in the City Centre mall here (or maybe Seef actually, I like them both! - though my favourite massive version is in the Dubai Mall) and stock up on some winter clothes. I need to do this for three reasons:

It is now very cold in Bahrain - all of just 20 degrees today, and I am chilly.
I am about to head to Alexandria in Egypt with the White Witch, where it is even colder.
I optimistically thought I wouldn't need any winter clothes, but clearly I've acclimatised to the heat and now I'm as shivery as any native Bahraini

Now, this is totally ok with me . I love clothes. You know I love clothes. And even the people at H&M know I love clothes, because they see me there so often (browsing, My One True Love, browsing, I promise).

For Aussie readers who don't know H&M, firstly - my condolences. You poor, poor things. Secondly, it's like Portmans, Forever 21, and Sportsgirl got together and had a hybrid baby. They do on-trend clothing at affordable prices - really affordable prices.

And this is one of the great things about being back in the Middle East: access to some of my favourite overseas brands - ones you can't get in Australia, like the aforementioned H&M as well as Zara and TopShop and others. H&M tops the list for me though, it seems whenever I walk into that shop I find something I like. Viz the new voile scarf I bought in Lebanon, the owl pendant I recently picked up, the snuggly grey cardigan I covet, my new swimming shorts ... need I go on?

And I've spent the past 10 days cruising their new winter collection, which is in all the shops now (hooray! new collection!) so I know exactly what I'm going to go out and buy.

There's lots of red, which is wonderful - I'm trying to decide between the grey version and the red version of this lovely rollneck jumper here on the left.

And that little girl is so cute it almost (.....almost) makes me want to have a daughter so I can put her in this gorgeous little red sweater dress. Better yet, make me six years old again so I can wear it myself.

I also have a couple of "events" to dress for - Christmas parties and the like. Even though Bahrain is technically an Islamic country, it's very liberal as things go, and there are Christmas decorations in all the stores, along with Christian religious icons and nativity scenes.

I have three dresses I'm trying to choose between.

I love the red one here, and it has a forgiving empire line which is perfect for scoffing canapes at cocktail parties and still being able to breathe at the end of the night.

And I love this black one too, because it's elegant and would be quite slimming I think (so can still craftily eat canapes you see while pretending to be skinny).

But I think my favourite is this short sparkly one here. It's so cute and festive! That zip down the front gives it a modern edge, while the cut is a classic, and perfect for those who are slightly self-conscious about their booty. And when I say "those" I mean "me" of course.

I prefer to have sleeves though, so I would team it with the sparkly black shrug - that would keep the winter chill at bay, make me comfortable, and work back the cream effect for a very chic look. Black gladiator heels would be perfect to cap it off.

So that's parties taken care of. What I also need are snuggly clothes I can just wear at home to be comfortable and warm in.

These lounge pants here are just the ticket, they've got the elastic around the ankles that I like - I know, I hear you, elasticised ankles are not usually a hallmark of style.

But people, I'm living on my own and I hate having cold ankles. I really do.So I'm going to buy these pants no matter what you think.

And I'm going to team them with this stripy top here even though it's a man's top, because I like stripy tops and I'm living on my own and if I want to pair track pants with a stripy top then I'm going to, just because I can. So ner.

So that's my current H&M wishlist. I really want to know if they're going to stock the new 80-piece Lanvin capsule collection that was released in late November, because if they do I am totally going to buy this amazing yellow dress as well! That is just about my favourite colour in the whole world.

(I also want this blazer jacket but I really have to find a reason for it first .... can anyone provide me with the perfect excuse? Anyone....?)

Walking in a windy winter land

2010-12-14T06:12:00.001+11:00

Bahrain had a sandstorm today!

Not just any old sandstorm, but the tail end of a bad-weather front that has swept across the Middle East from Lebanon - where the border with Syria is closed, giant waves have hammered Sidon in the south and heavy dumps of snow have blocked the mountain roads - right through to Egypt, where ships have sunk off the coast of Alexandria.and 28 buildings collapsed in the fierce winds and 11 people died.... Alexandria, where I happen to be heading on Wednesday this week. Yikes.

Sandstorms in the desert region are quite spectacular. They're not quite The Mummy-esque type of sandstorm beloved of Hollywood and Brendan Fraser movies, but they are massive and they do block visibility completely. I tried to take a photo to show you what the vista looked like, but it was completely pointless. All the sand and dust fills the air like a solid mass, and it's impossible to discern anything through it.

Giant wall of impenetrable sand? Check. Men wearing scarves over their heads to protect their eyes and lungs? Check. Incredible gusts of winds that nearly blew me over as I was trying to cross a busy road? Check, check and check. But no photographic proof possible.

So I've holed up here tonight in my porno palace and I'm not going out for love nor money. If you don't hear from me within 24 hours, you'll know I've suffocated in an eleven-storey high pile of sand. Wish me luck.

Pictures of Lebanon

2010-12-13T04:10:00.001+11:00

A bombed out building ruin in Beirut


Breadmaker in Tripoli

Unloading fresh sheepskins from the slaughter - check out the flies

At the local market

The river in Tripoli - polluted, just like the rest of Lebanon

Erm ... this was just lying in the street


Na-nie na-nie na-nie naaaa

Fresh dates for sale

Arabic coffee street stall

Tanks guarding the citadel ... and men guarding the tanks

100% pomegranate juice squeezed fresh in front of us - delicious!

Tripping out in Tripoli

2010-12-12T04:05:00.001+11:00

It was the guns that surprised us the most on our day trip to Tripoli.

Guns, everywhere. Men carrying guns. Massive billboard ads for guns. Massive billboard ads featuring heavily made-up women carrying guns. Tanks in the streets. Sniper nests on the corners of buildings.

And children. Young boys shooting each other one the streets, not with popguns, but with very realistic heavy artillery. Machine guns. Automatic rifles. Sawn-off shotguns, grenades, and rocket launchers.

All fake, of course, in the case of the children - though the military police presence was quite, quite real.

The White Witch and I had read about the troubles in Tripoli, in the microbus on the way up the coast from Beirut. There are tensions that still simmer below the surface, and as recently as 2007 there was fighting in the streets. So I guess the police and army presence is understandable, but it was the kids with guns that really surprised us.

But then, I guess when you grow up in a volatile environment, and there are violent years of history even in your very recent past; then playing with guns is something that's culturally acceptable - encouraged, even.

This was just lying on the street

We'd gone to Tripoli to check out the souq, which is meant to be one of the best in the region. Unfortunately for us, it was closed on the day we were there, for the feast of Eid Al Adha.

So we visited the citadel on top of the hill instead, and got mobbed by small children in the square outside the Great Mosque, who all begged for photographs from my digital camera, and tried out some of our fledgling Arabic (Ismi Flickettysplits, sabah al khayr, keyfa haluki, askun fi Ustraylia) and ate mounds of baklava in the best cafe in town, which was absolutely fantastic.

But the guns .... it was the guns that left a lingering impression. And the children, mock-killing each other - over, and over, and over again.

Sheikh it baby - new Arabic owls

2010-11-30T02:41:00.001+11:00

My latest creation. Cute, huh? I was going to put dark sunglasses on the boy owl, just like all the men wear here, but ended up going with the black felt instead - it gives the same impression and was much easier to sew!

I particularly like the red and white keffiyeh, I used authentic fabric and made a miniature version. Plus, I hand braided that black loop which keeps it on - originally these were the camel hobbles that the locals carried (back when they travelled by camel) but now they are just decorative.

There are lots of ways to wear your headdress here in the Gulf countries, and tying it in a certain manner can either indicate which region or tribe you hail from, or your degree of coolness (as in, trendiness rather than temperature control). Even when there are only two things to work with - a thobe (the robe) and a keffiyeh (the headdress), young people everywhere will find a way to use it for personal expression. Much nicer than baggy jeans hanging off a teenager's arse!

I love the bejewelled eyes I've used here for the female owl, they're absolutely perfect. Many of the women wear such magnificent eye makeup and kohl that I think these buttons capture their quintessential look.

The latest fashion for wearing your shayla - the scarf that covers either your hair or your full face, depending on how conservative you (or your parents) are - involves clipping your hair up into a massive bouffant bun at the crown of your head, and then carefully draping the fabric over it. Girls here can have their shayla styled like the bow of a ship, up to 20cm from the back of their head. It's quite grand and looks very impressive.

It's the little things ... cardomom

2010-11-29T04:39:00.001+11:00

There are certain things that define the Middle East for me, more than anything else.

A lot of these are food-related. I think it's because food can be so specific to a place, a city, a region or a country; and when you taste something different and unique for the first time, it will forever remind you of the place you tasted it.

For example, Germany will always taste of the astoundingly creamy icecream I had on the boat travelling down the Rhine river on a trip in my teenage years.

France is white brie and breadsticks. Jordan is mansaf, a dish where mutton (goat, really, not the mutton we know) is slow-cooked in yogurt. Egypt will always be falafel in pita bread, eaten hot from a roadside stand with My One True Love next to me and the crashing noise of Cairo traffic all around us.

Syria is shawarma and mayonnaise, and sugary sweets bought from a road cart. Lebanon is hommos and fattoush. India is palak paneer, China is "ovaries of a crad". Yes, crad - I hope they meant crab and just spelt it incorrectly, because otherwise I have no idea what a crad is.

Bahrain, so far, is minted lemonade made with real mint and real lemons, mmmm. And of course, cardomom. Cardomom is ubiquitous in the Middle East. Cardomom tea in the evenings instead of the chamomile I have in Melbourne. Cardomom biscuits as a snack. And even cardomom milk in my coffee, which makes Nescafe taste like something altogether much better.

Cardomom icecream, cardomom in curries, cardomom cardomom cardomom. Gorgeous.

What do other countries taste like for you?

The bus to Byblos and back again

2010-11-28T03:21:00.000+11:00

Getting around Lebanon proved to be easier than we thought. We decided we were going to do a day trip to Byblos (an historic town with ruins dating back to Phoenician times), and on the map it looked like a decent half day's journey. So it was delightful to work out that in fact Lebanon is much tinier than we originally imagined, and in fact it would only take us about an hour by microbus.

Microbuses are great. They're minibuses which travel all over the country on pretty defined routes, and you can pick them up at any point. Literally - if you just stick out an arm, one will stop for you. The White Witch and I did a little more planning than that, not quite trusting our bus-hailing skills on our first day, so we got down to the "terminal" at Dawra (in truth, a large roundabout with dozens of minibuses hanging around it) - and lo and behold, there was a bus ready to take off for Byblos. How much for the 45 kilometre trip? Two US dollars. Two! We were on it in seconds.

An hour, a coffee and a bathroom break later, we were out in the glary sunshine of Byblos and making our way to the runis which stand on a coastal hill.

Ruins are ruins pretty much anywhere, and we enjoyed the wander around the site mainly for the benefit of learning a bit about the 17 different civilisations which have inhabited that particular area.

The excavation is ongoing, so you can see bits of Roman ruins interspersed with the Crusader castle, Phoenician tombs and sarcophagi, and an ancient well that still bubbles with water.

Following a divine lunch at the port, in the sunshine, accompanied by local beer, we wandered back to the highway and caught ourselves a bus and then a taxi to Jeita.

Never mind the traffic, which was completely at a standstill and required us to get out and walk the last two kilometres, we finally made it and it was worth the bother.

What's at Jeita? Caves, dear reader, caves. Magnificent caves. Huge, open caves with a ceiling over 106 metres high, and impressive walls of stalactites and stalagmites, and a winding concrete staircase inside that freaked me out enough for me to clutch onto the White Witch's arm as we made our way up and up and up inside them.

I have borrowed these photos to show you - I couldn't take any myself, because cameras are forbidden inside (it didn't seem to stop many of the tourists though, who were all snapping away happily, though I did bark at one child not to TOUCH the stalagmites, and a German couple nearby applauded me, while the guard looked on, totally unconcerned despite the signs everywhere saying Do Not Touch The Stalagmites .... sigh .....)

However, here is a link to them. They are magnificent, and currently in the running to be voted one of the modern 7 Wonders Of The World. They deserve the title - the caves extend between 6-7 kilometres inside the hills of Lebanon, though you can only travel about a kilometre inside before the oxygen becomes too thin.

In the lower grotto, you can take a boat trip across a subterranean lake with waters that are perfectly still, turquoise and crystal clear. The grotto walls, which shear up around you, are covered with mica, so they sparkle in the dim light. It's quite magical.

Then we caught ourselves a bus back to Beirut, and spent an hour trying to find a particular restaurant, wandering up and down the laneways, looking for Rue Monot, looking, looking, looking .....

Lovely arabic girl trying this on in the Byblos souq

My Creative Space

2010-11-25T17:35:00.001+11:00

Right now, my creative space is filled with all the wonderful vintage fabrics I found in a dusty shop in Beirut. I'm hugging myself with delight and can't wait to start using them!

Before arriving in Lebanon, I had thought we would be able to find a fabric market - in the way that I seem to be able to find a fabric market in just about any city I visit.

Most Middle Eastern cities have an area where all the fabric shops are clustered together, and you can just go from one to another and lose yourself in the wonders they have to offer, as the hours go past unnoticed and your stomach starts to grumble and the sun sets slowly in the sky. Or is that just me?

After we walked around for a while, searching aimlessly, it became obvious to us that Beirut doesn't have a market in that sense. Perhaps because it's a much more European city, it's more like Australia, where fabric shops are just dotted across the landscape, with no particular rhyme or reason as to their location. We had found one around the corner from our guesthouse on the first night, where I bought (at vast expense) the incredibly good quality French indienne cottons in the bottom photograph, from a tiny French woman no bigger than a bird.

It was our last day in the city and we didn't want to waste time looking - so the White Witch and I went shopping for shoes, instead. As you do.

(She bought a gorgeous pair of soft suede ballet pumps with little grosgrain ribbons on the toe, decorated with a sparkly brooch. I wanted the same pair, but lucky for My One True Love and our magnificent shoe cupboard which is already full to bursting, they didn't have my size).

French indienne cottons

We began to make our way back along the Rue de Hamra, with the intention of catching a taxi back to the guesthouse and then the airport for our flight home.

Lo and behold, as we rounded a corner, a dusty shop caught my eye. And as I peered closer, I realised that one entire wall was covered with bolts of fabric.

Colourful fabric. Patterned fabric. Colourful, patterned ... ohmygod VINTAGE fabric! I may have let out an involuntary squeal at that point. I certainly clapped my hands together like a five-year-old, I know that much.

And so we dived in, and I pulled out roll after roll after roll of divine mercerised cotton from the 60s, polished cotton from the 50s, a 70s printed silk, wool and cashmere blends, tartan wool weaves, plenty of polyester/rayon mixes (ugh, I put those back right away), navy and red striped seersucker ... it was madness. The shop assistant thought it was heaven.

In the end I managed to pare back my selection to the bare necessities.

The block green wool is going to become a sixties-style knee-length dress with rolled collar and short sleeves, very Jackie O
and next to it, the heavy mercerised cotton with a cream background and green floral print; which perfectly coordinates with that green wool, is going to become a short box jacket to go over the dress
and the same fabric in brown (top left corner) is going to become a giant elephant, a la Gerald The Elephant In The Room
and the cream pinwale corduroy with purple and gold stripes, trellis and leafy print is going to be ... something, I don't know what yet
and the loud fabric with multicoloured stripes and flowers comes in two weights - canvas and voile - so the voile is going to be a simple shirt and the canvas will be used for toys
the blue, orange and black floral print is a good shirting weight too
and the flowery brown, orange and lilac cotton in the bottom right-hand corner is just something I liked but I've no idea what to use it for
And the White Witch bought some lovely things in pink tones as well but I was too obsessed with my own haul to photograph hers

And then - then we realised what time it was and we rushed out the door with our bags and caught a taxi with a totally pervy driver who wanted us to spank his hand with this weird wooden paddle and we had to get out in the middle of nowhere and then we nearly missed the flight to the airport, all because of the fabric, but that's another story .....

B-B-B-B-B-Beirut!

2010-11-24T23:04:00.000+11:00

Those are bulletholes in the wall

The White Witch and I landed in Lebanon with a bit of a thud - literally. We'd booked flights only a few days ago, booked accommodation the day before we left, and we really had no idea what to expect. It was a bit of the seat-of-our-pants journey, decided on a whim because ... well, basically because neither of us had been before and just about every other flight out of Bahrain was full except this one.

Sometimes this is the best kind of holiday, and I can easily say that Beirut lived up to that. Because we had no idea what to expect, we weren't disappointed on any front.

What we learnt is that Beirut is a city of Bs. Bombed out buildings, bullet holes in the bricks, broken down houses, boarded up shutters - the remnants of the civil war are still there, and while they're not as fresh as they were originally, somehow the devastation seems even more profound when it's viewed in context with the apartment buildings nearby that sell for $5 million each. To expats.

So there are these pointed reminders of the conflict that still, apparently, simmers just below the surface of Lebanon.

On the face of it though, Beirut is actually a very modern city, and to me it seemed quite European rather than Middle Eastern at all. It's green and gardened, there are sections that look like Paris - buildings with little French doors and juliet balconies, painted with yellow distemper , lacy curtains blowing in the breeze - and there are as many global brand names in the malls as you'd expect in your home town.

Not only that, but Beiruti women are astonishing. Beirut is the city of Bs, and they fit into that like a key in a lock - they are bejewelled, bedangled, bedazzling, busty, brazen and bootylicious. Everything in Beirut revolves around your appearance. There is no subtlety involved. Loans for cosmetic surgery and boob jobs are as common as car loans in Beirut (and if the two-hour traffic jam coming back from Byblos was anything to go by, EVERYONE in Beirut has a car).

A nice juxtapostion of cordoned off street, heavily armed military policeman, and Hello Kitty balloon. Aw.

As two white girls wearing beaten-up travelling clothes, we felt quite out of place. Me at least, I'm brunette, so I didn't attract a great deal of attention. The White Witch, however, is fair-skinned, blue-eyed, tall, slim and blonde (I hate her), and she was like a walking neon sign. People stared at her constantly - even more than they do in Bahrain, because in Beirut, beauty is olive-skinned, dark-eyed and dark-haired. Blondeness was quite the novelty, we discovered.

But we had a wonderful time. We checked into our gorgeous little room at the Hayete; a tiny four-room guesthouse in Achrafiye, one of the central suburbs of Beirut. We went straight to Leila's in the ABC Mall to spend the $50 we'd planned to shell out on our visas - visas that turned out to be free - on a feast instead, where we practically died and went to heaven on the flavours of their hommos, fattoush, baba ghanoush and minted lemonade. We had an incredible dessert which consisted of two scoops of musk icecream wrapped in pashmak (persian fairy floss) and sprinkled with pistachios, mmmm.

I don't normally photograph my food, but this dessert was so good I'd have dipped it in bronze if I could

Then we reverted to type and went shopping at H&M, where I found a beautiful white cotton voile scarf for $9, and the White Witch bought a snuggly grey wool cardigan for quite a bit more than that.

The destroyed cinema on the Green Line, and mosque behind

We wandered off to the Downtown area, which was the centre of conflict through the war in the 70s and 80s, and we stood on the Green Line that was the demarcation between the warring sides. We saw the bombed out Holiday Inn which still stands with its tattered curtains flapping in the breeze, and the destroyed cinema (that they're about to demolish and make into yet another shopping mall).

Holiday Inn, with ironic sign

We walked through the Place d'Etoile, which has been completely rebuilt and is virtually soulless as a consequence, though it is heavily guarded by military police with large automatic rifles and machine guns.

We accidentally found, and visited the memorial to Rafiq Hariri, the ex-Prime Minister, and his bodyguards, who were killed by a car bomb near the Grand Mosque in 2005.

Then we wandered home via a film at the mall, and fell into our enormous king-size bed, exhausted. We couldn't get a twin room anywhere in the city you see, because we were so late with the booking, and the White Witch had warned me that she kicks during the night, so I was a little concerned ....

.....but it turns out she doesn't.

The Mosque Clock giveaway winner

2010-11-24T16:56:00.000+11:00

Well, I've made it safely home from a fantastic Eid Al Adha holiday in Lebanon - posts due shortly - and I have 19 metres of proper vintage fabric in tow. 19 metres! Of fabric from the 60s and 70s! From a dusty shop in Beirut! I love it. I am true fabric hound, I can sniff out the good stuff anywhere.

But for now, the most important thing is the winner of the fantastically kitsch mosque clock.

I've used a truly random way of selecting this winner. I decided that the hour of day I first heard a call to prayer upon my return, would determine the winner of the giveaway.

This morning, I was woken up at FIVE AM by the call to prayer, from the mosque down the road. This is no small mosque. It has one of the biggest fibreglass domes in the world, a chandelier made in Belgium that weighs as much as four elephants (true) and it can accommodate 5000 people. Suffice to say, it also has a very clear loudspeaker on the minaret.

So in line with my five am wakeup call from the mosque, the giveaway winner is commenter Number Five. Jennie, that's you! Please email me your postal address and I will put this piece of kitschy goodness into the mail for you.

Ah, where would we be without giveaways? I love them. And will be holding more in the leadup to Christmas, so make sure to keep your eyes peeled!

Beirut, here I come ....

2010-11-16T04:35:00.001+11:00

So, I'm off to Beirut today with my friend the White Witch, for three days of Eid celebrations - fabric shopping in the souks, photo taking in the daytime, cocktail drinking in the evenings, and hopefully some great stories to tell you when I'm back.

And apparently only two people want to win the Eid Al Adha giveaway - amazing! They each have a 50% chance right now. If you want a chance too, enter here .....

Eid Al Adha giveaway

2010-11-15T02:55:00.003+11:00

Honestly people, where does the time go? I paused briefly during the whirlwind of activity over the weekend and realised that I've now been living in Bahrain for a month. A whole month!

And corresponding to my time here so far, this week brings the Eid Al Adha break - an important religious holiday known as the Feast Of Sacrifice. Eid is like Easter, in that the days it falls on are dictated by the moon - it is celebrated on 10th day of the 12th (and last) month of the Islamic calendar; that's the month that concludes the Haj period - the Haj is the pilgirmmage to Mecca in Saudi Arabia, which all Muslims must do at least once in their lifetime.

(As an aside, here is an incredibly detailed tapestry of the pilgrimage, which I photographed in Dubai last Thursday. The big black box represents the "centre", as Muslims must face towards the centre when worshipping god - pilgrims walk around it in an anti-clockwise direction as they pray.)

Eid falls this week, and traditionally it's celebrated by the family getting together and slaughtering a fat sheep for a feast. When I was in Syria a few years ago for Eid break, I took some great photos of my travelling companion posing with a big group of sheep herders, who tried to convince us to buy one of their animals for the kill. We demurred, noting that it would be hard to carry a slaughtered sheep around Damascus, as we had no form of transport except our own feet. They were fine with that.

In many cities these days Eid is celebrated more through giving gifts and holding big dinners and parties, and because it's a three-day holiday lots of people go away. I, for example, am off to Lebanon along with The Good Witch, where hopefully we will take in some culture, enjoy some nightlife, and not get arrested by Hamas.

But I digress. Eid means presents! And so I'm offering this genuine mosque alarm clock to one lucky reader. It is made of 100% plastic and was bought here in the Manama souq. When the alarm goes off, what you hear is the call to prayer instead of your traditional bell or buzz. I love it, it's so completely kitsch. Wouldn't this make a cool stocking stuffer??

You know what you have to do - to enter this competition you must already be a follower or join up as a follower. Leave a comment on this post telling me your favourite holiday (Christmas, Easter, Australia Day, sickie) and why. If you blog about this giveaway on your own blog you'll get not one, but TWO entries - make sure you include the link to your post in your comment.

I'll randomly draw the competition when I'm back from Beirut later this week, on Saturday, and of course I will post this anywhere in the world. Good luck!

What I did on my weekend

2010-11-14T04:14:00.001+11:00

Ornately tiled mosque tucked away in the back streets of Budaiya

So, what an incredibly cultural weekend I've had! Between traditional crafts, old houses, forts, horses, feral cats, mosques, sunset on the beach and archeological digs, I feel I've been quite the tourist for the past few days.

Luckily for me, all this activity was organised by my friend, The Good Witch, who had a girlfriend out from the UK for the weekend and wanted to explore some of the cultural history of this country. Me? I got to tag along for the ride - literally, in the backseat of the car.

Here's a pictorial record of what we did on our weekend .....


Village ruins dated to 2000 BC


Sunset on the beach

Bahrain fort, with the city in the background

Very stern man at the fort, wearing traditional gulabeya and keffiyeh


City mosque near the old houses

Grand Mosque in Juffair

Everybody needs ..... Beautiful Table Manners

2010-11-10T23:00:00.000+11:00

Hello dear readers. I am proud to present to you my latest project - Beautiful Table Manners!

This is a range of gorgeous square table napkins and runners in 100% cotton - lovely to look at, easy to wash, easy to iron, and best of all, easy to post to you from here in Bahrain.

These are perfect housewarming presents, birthday gifts, and the Absolutely Ideal Stocking Stuffer. Don't you think? Christmas is coming up quickly, after all....

I lit upon this idea a few weeks ago, as I stood in my empty flat surveying my non-existent fabric stash and empty notions box. Being bereft of my everyday fabric stash (I use the term "stash" loosely, it's more a "room" these days) and all my associated interfacing, buttons, zips and other notions, I've had to turn my mind to new products and ideas. Like camel softies, for example - look out for those soon.

But unlike the camel softies, these are lovely things. Things that are straightforward to make. Things that are easy to pack and post off all around the world. Because I'm not bringing them home with me in January, that's certain!

So please .... give someone you love the gift of Beautiful Table Manners. And save me the excess baggage fees on the return leg of my Middle Eastern adventure!

Singing in Bah-rain!

2010-11-09T04:59:00.002+11:00

View from the top floor of my building

It was the sound of rain that woke me up at 5.18am. Rain, drumming on the windows of my porno flat and splatting on the concrete outdoor space right beside my front door. As I started with the sound of it, I felt a little confused - for a moment there I thought I was at home in Melbourne.

But this was rain - rain in Bahrain! The rain in Bahrain falls rarely on the plain - that's for sure. I'm told it only rains here five or six days a year (isn't that just my luck, I adore the heat and I'm desperate for warmth, and it's raining instead).

I pushed myself out of bed and into my gym clothes before I had time to talk myself out of it. (I've not been to the gym in four days - sheer laziness, I admit). Heading out the front door, I breathed in that fabulous hot metal and lightning smell of ozone that comes with every storm. I love that smell. If someone made a perfume of that smell, I would totally buy it.

For the next 45 minutes I pounded the treadmill while half-hoping the building wouldn't get struck by lightning, and half-watching the storm thundering on around me as the lightning forked down around all the skyscrapers. It was quite fantastic, with leaden clouds and an unusual greeny-grey light - and eleven stories up, I was in just about the perfect viewing position to see it all.

When I gave up running out of sheer boredom and started on some light weights (I might as well, they're all here in the gym in my building, and it's a shame just to use the treadmill and nothing else), I could hear the sound of children shrieking with excitement in the streets. Looking waaaaay down to the ground I could see a bunch of them splashing around in the water and the monstrous earth-swallowing lakes that were forming on the vacant lot next door.

When I went back to the flat for my shower the thunder and lightning cranked up a notch, and I actually waited a good half hour before turning the water on. Why? Because I had visions of being electrocuted under the flow of water, you see, and my brain was crowded out with images of dying here, away from My One True Love and home, and not being found for a few days because I live alone, and then, the godawful horror of being found dead and naked under a running shower - by Biju, my little Indian building manager. Oh my wordy lordy no, it was enough to put me off showering for good. So I made my lunch instead (healthy, healthy me) and waited for the storm to pass.

Later in the morning, driving was a real challenge, every car had their hazard lights on. Like Dubai, Bahrain doesn't really have a drainage system - it doesn't rain often enough to warrant one, and after all the place is built almost entirely on reclaimed land, and the water just seeps through the sand. So it means that when it rains, there's nowhere for the water to go, so you end up having to wade or drive through great rivers of dirty slushy sandy muck. All the cars were crawling through water that was thigh-high in places, and doing it at a snail's pace. It took me 45 minutes to go a total of five kilometres. Gah.

Within an hour the clouds had vanished like they'd never been there in the first place. The sand is already bone dry. But my car is clean for the first time in three weeks, and the leaves on the trees are green again instead of covered in dust, and the whole place looks brighter and fresher.

Even RAMEE SUITES-2 even looks better for having had a wash .....

It's the little things ... mumtaz petrol prices

2010-11-08T04:21:00.020+11:00

The car - my little Nissan Sunny, especial favourite of Indian drivers, particularly in Dubai - is running low on petrol.

I've had it for a week and driven 350 kilometres already, which I think is primarily down to the fact that I am still getting the hang of the roads here and quite often get lost and have to retrace my metaphorical steps. I spend a lot of time driving around and around, looking for a turnoff.

So it's time to fill up. I've no idea how big my tank is, because this is the first time I've needed to refuel. I pull into the local petrol station, where they have driveway service (remember driveway service all those years ago? I still remember being in the car with my mother as she got her tank filled up and oil and water checked. I think that's part of the reason I still have no idea how to check my oil or water, lucky I'm living in the Gulf now huh, where someone else can do it for me.....).

The attendant asks me how much I want. I um and er, and in the end I tell him to fill it up - why not, I might as well, and it'll save me coming back here again too soon. The fuel is called Mumtaz (pronounced Moohm-taz), which is an Arabic word that basically translates into Excellent! or Terrific! or Fabbo!. I like Mumtaz fuel, just for the fun of saying it. Mumtaz. Mumtaz. Mumtaz ......

I watch the gauge as the numbers tick over. 30 litres, 40 litres, 50 litres and I'm done. Aghast, I look at the price indicater and it say 2700, which I think means 27 Bahraini dinars - about $70 Australian. I'm not sure I have that much on me, I thought it might be more like 15 or 20 BD.

Cheerfully, the attendant leans in and says "Thank you madam, 2 dinars 700 please."

I have to ask him to say it again, because I think I've heard it wrong.

"Two dinars seven hundred fils please madam" he confirms with a smile.

I'm astonished! 50 litres of petrol for the equivalent of around eight bucks. And I remember that I'm in an oil country, and that it was incredibly cheap in Dubai all those years ago too, and that's what petrol costs here. No wonder people drive everywhere, it's more economical to do that than it is to take the bus - if you can find the bus, that is, with its incredibly secretive and infrequent timetable. It's like a secret service bus, for secret squirrel agents. There must be some kind of secret club you have to join in order to ride it.

I hand over 3 BD and tell him to keep the change. Mumtaz indeed.

My Creative Space

2010-11-04T15:31:00.001+11:00

It's been a while since I had the chance to play along with My Creative Space.... and it's nice to be back.

I wondered how much sewing I'd get done here in Bahrain. The first week, I didn't even get my beloved Bernina out of its box because I was too busy (and jetlagged). The second week, I unpacked and began to think about what I could start working on in my spare time.

This week - the third week - I've made the better part of a quilt top, four patchwork cushions, two drawstring bags, a table runner, and I've got two Hoots, three sets of napkins and another table runner on the go. Isn't it amazing how stress can motivate you! Thank god I brought my machine - it's how I decompress, after all.

I couldn't fit all of that stuff in the photo though - I'd need a wide-angle lens. (Hm, maybe that's something I should speak to My One True Love about, CHristmas is coming up after all.....) So I chose a few things that went nicely together.

This is a patchwork cushion made from a charm pack of Nicey Jane I've had for ages. Sorry the light is so bad, but my porno flat doesn't get any direct sunlight, so I had to squeeze these in under the window to catch even the smallest chink of light.

The drawstring bags are made of Patty Young's Flora and Fauna, with the top feature strip in Summer Soiree by Paula Prass for Michael Miller. I especially love the fuschia cord I've used as the drawstring, which I picked up just last night in the Manama souq (I found a great notions shop and immediately made friends with the nice man behind the counter as he collated a little pile of cords, ribbons and zippers forme. Plus the buttons - oh the buttons! - but I will save that for another time.)

It feels so good to be making things again, and there's a special kind of pleasure that comes with not having to do them to a market timetable. Of course, I don't need to keep any of these things myself, I'm just making them for fun - so I can feel an Etsy update coming on .....

Hop on over to Kootoyoo and see what everyone else is working on today.

When in doubt, sew

2010-11-02T05:16:00.001+11:00

I'm missing home a lot today, after a long day that has drained me of practically all energy and motivation, following a night of bad dreams that woke me up at 3.49am. I'd hardly have the strength to write this if it weren't for the fact that every time I look out the window at RAMEE SUITES-2, I get a little burst of chuckly bubbles fizzing up inside me. Oddly, that sign is becoming my friend. Strange, huh?

In an effort to assuage my mood, I'm putting together two new patchwork cushions covers. I brought a small pile of 4 inch squares with me to Bahrain, knowing I would need something familiar and comforting to do in the evenings, and tonight these are proving just the ticket.

Here they are, laid out on my tiled floor. Isn't it funny ... no matter how melancholy I get, the simple act of putting together little squares of coloured fabric in a pleasing arrangement always manages to lift my spirits.

It's the little things ..... bedspace

2010-11-01T05:00:00.002+11:00

.... that sometimes make you realise just how good you've got it.

Take these advertisements, for example. I photographed them on the weekend, pasted onto the side of a public phone booth on Bank Street in Bur Dubai.

The two notices at the top are advertising bed space. Not houses, not flats, not even rooms. Bed space.

There are two different kinds of bedspace available in Dubai - at least, there were when I lived there all those years ago, and I don't imagine much has changed if these ads are anything to go by.

Bedspace Type One is one-half of a bunk bed you rent in a room, which probably has three or four bunk beds in it, which means you could be sharing a room with five or six other people. Did you note that the ad on the top actually specifies you get an individual bed? For other alternatives, see below for Bedspace Type Two. You are probably an Indian or Pakistani man, perhaps Sri Lankan or Afghani. You might be a bachelor saving up money for your marriage at home, or you might already be married, and sending money home to your wife, children and most likely mother as well. If you're a woman you are most certainly young and single and submissive, most likely Filipino or South Asian.

Bedspace Type Two is literally, bedspace. You rent the bed on a timeshare basis. You're an Indian/Pakistani/Afghan/Sri Lankan shift worker, and you share the actual bed with one or two other people, and you each get a timeslot to sleep in when you're off work and the others are on. You might rent it from midnight to 8am, or on a twelve-hourly rotation. Take it as read, you don't get to sleep in.

Bedspace is a widely exercised and generally acceptable accommodation option in this part of the world. It's a prescription that means you can live in Dubai and earn money at a greater rate than you might in your home town.

It comes with its side-effects though, which can cause nausea and headache. The flip side is that if you're renting bed space you're probably employed by a third-party company who has confiscated your passport and only allows you one trip home every two years. You can't leave the company, because you haven't got a passport, so effectively you're a modern-day slave. You're completely dependent on them.

You probably earn between 400 and 1000 dirhams a week - the equivalent of about $125 - $350. Maybe the company doesn't pay you every month like it should, either ... maybe it only pays you every few months, or every six months, or maybe it doesn't pay you at all.

You probably risk your life quite regularly, especially if you work on a construction site during the summers here, when workers in their blue jumpsuits fall like stones from the top of tall buildings as their brains bake in the searing heat and their legs fail underneath them.

It's not all like this, of course. There are reputable companies who look after their workers (in a relative sense). But there are enough of the disreputable ones around to make you take a second look at the glamorous world everyone there is living in, with their designer clothes and fancy cars and top-end international lives. Lives which are built off the backs of the men who live in bedspace.

That makes some of us thankful for the things we have. Glad for our suspiciously pornographic-looking flats and the ever-present soft red glow of our RAMEE SUITES-2 signs. We bid you goodnight, from the vast and gratefully unshared expanse of our four-poster porno bed.

I told you there'd be sewing....

2010-10-29T17:46:00.000+11:00

Thank you lovely readers for your encouraging comments on my last post - oh how I love social networking for its power to cheer you (me) up when you (I) feel low. You cheered me up, and I'm grateful, and I'm glad I made some of you chuckle as well.

So it seems appropriate that today's post is a fabric-y craft one, because I am here in Dubai for the first time in five years, and it's heaven.

First of all, I was waved through at passport control........ which means the niggling little fear I've been harbouring all this time that I might not be allowed back into the country because my old residential visa wasn't cancelled through the proper channels when I left last time, was unfounded. Yay.

And driving along Sheikh Zayed road past all my old haunts brought a tidal wave of nostalgia over me, which I quite enjoyed. Dubai has changed so much, and I have a post about that ready to go, but MOST IMPORTANTLY, the fabric shops are still there in Satwa, right where I left them.

My very good friend Ms Read and I used to trawl the fabric markets in Dubai on an all-too-regular basis. It was our pastime to go and pick up new material and take it straight to Mr Prakash, our tailor near Lamcy Plaza.

Mr Prakash is a genius - I am still wearing clothes he made for me seven years ago. In fact, in honour of the occasion, yesterday I wore a plum-coloured straight skirt he made for me, to celebrate my return.

There was one shop Ms Read and I particularly liked - Deepak's, a wonderful place stocked and staffed in the Indian manner. That is, drinks on arrival, an attendant to shepherd you round the shop and pull out lots of lovely stuff for you, anther man to fold it all up once it was cut, and then a final man to tally the bill and take payment.

On the left, cotton polkadots for daytime. On the right, crepe de chine polkadots for nighttime

Last night, I walked into Deepak's and an attendant came straight over. I was hopping up and down with excitement to be there, and I explained that I used to live in Dubai but it's been five years and I have dreamed about returning and I love Deepaks, etc etc ..... and he fixed me with a gaze, an Indian head-wobble, and said "Oh yes, madam, I do remember you".

I love the Arabic script on the middle selvedge - I'm going to make a feature out of that somehow

I was sceptical. Five years between drinks and he remembers me? I graciously said Oh, that's very nice but I'm sure you don't.

And he looked at me again and he said "You ask my friend over there. When you came in the door I said to him, the madam has cut all her hair."

I gaped. He continued.

"You were often coming in here, very regularly you were coming in here, and you were coming with your tall friend, and you were buying many fabrics." And I'm thinking, well, yes, that does SOUND like me.

"You were taking them to Mr Prakash."

You could have knocked me down with a feather.

"I am remembering your name madam, and it is (insert my name here). Are you remembering my name?"

And I confess I wasn't remembering his name at all. My god, the man remembers me and now I feel embarrassed because I a) didn't believe him and b) don't remember his.

"Ah, but you were remembering my name when you were living here madam. I am Sunil. And I am remembering that before you left you came in and bought one great mountain of fabric to take home with you, many embroidered silks especially in the bright colours."

It's true. The man has a memory like an elephant (while I have one like a goldfish.) How happy and touched was I to feel remembered, and valued - no doubt because I used to spend so much money in there, so it's a friendship based firmly on commerce, but really, who cares? The man remembers me as a valuable customer, five years later!

I spent a lovely hour looking through the shop and finding a wonderful collection of orange and yellow fabrics to take back to Bahrain with me. Um, 26 metres to be precise. And then he threw in four free pieces as well, as a welcome back gift.

My god I love Dubai, and especially Deepak's, and particularly Sunil.

Bloody painful annoying irritating day

2010-10-28T04:43:00.002+11:00

...ugh, one of those days today that started out bad and got worse.

Awoke from a nightmare. Failed to go the gym before work. Felt bad about it.

Went to work. Twiddled my thumbs for hours waiting for other people to provide me with things I needed before I could do my part on them.

In exasperation, went to the mall at lunchtime and had junk food for lunch. Felt worse.

Back in the office, tried to get flights booked for an overnight trip to Dubai tomorrow. It was like talking to a brick wall. Resisted the urge to scream down the phone 'DON'T YOU GODDAMN INSHA'ALLAH ME ONE MORE GODDAMN TIME!!!!!!!!"

(Insha'allah means "maybe, perhaps, god willing'. It can also mean "I'm too lazy and I really don't feel like doing this thing you urgently need me to do". It's the Islamic equivalent of the Indian head-wobble.)

Spent what seemed like hours wheedling and cajoling and coaxing just to get the logistics sorted out. Left at 6pm because I couldn't stand it anymore.

Drove home. Traffic bad. Missed the turnoff and ended up in gridlock for 45 minutes. Fuming, consumed junk food again for dinner because I still have no pots or pans to cook with despite having requested them four days ago, while trying to get the tv to work (turned out the cleaner had bollixed something up when she was here earlier today). Resigned myself to no hot water for the fourth day in a row.

Later, accidentally discovered hot water works fine and I've just been using the tap the wrong way. Years of university education under my belt and I can't work the tap.

Sigh. Got confirmation of my flights but no confirmation of the car and driver. No confirmation on my third meeting for tomorrow either. Am going to another country with no promise of transport or purpose. Sigh again.
Only have the glowing red glare of the RAMEE SUITES-2 neon sign for company. Little sniff. Small sob.

I think it's bedtime. Tomorrow is another day.

My life on the set of an adult movie

2010-10-27T15:43:00.001+11:00

This post title should pick up some interesting readers from Google search pages! It's deliberately provocative, I admit, and the reality is not quite as the title suggests.

(.... maybe it will help boost my Followers list though, as I seem to be slowly losing followers while I'm over here and writing less about sewing and craft than I used to. Don't worry readers! There will still be sewing! Yet every time I lose a follower it's like a little piece of my heart quietly dies ....)

I'm in a bit of a melodramatic mood today, and I'm sure it has something to do with my environment. I've moved into a new flat, you see, and it is .... interesting.

Here in Bahrain it's terribly easy to find somewhere to live. You drive around the residential areas, and most of the blocks have a phone number on the side of the building. You ring up, enquire about whether there is anything available, and if there is you can usually see it on the spot. Which is exactly what I did.

No jostling with a hundred other people during a half-hour inspection time, no tiresome filling out of application forms with your blood type, shoe size, and offer to donate your firstborn child, no anxious wait to see if the landlord will deign to accept your offer ... just an inspection, an agreement, and a handshake. Done.

So that's how I find myself living in an enormous studio flat on the top floor of a building in Juffair (which is also apparently the suburb where the US Navy is based in Bahrain, ladies - it is overflowing with servicemen, I discovered a few nights ago when I ventured out for the first time).

I love this flat. It is half the size of our house at home, it has everything I need in it, it's on the top floor kind of under the pool area - it's like the little dovecote of Victorian times; the place to go for peace and solitude.

Never mind that it looks like a porn set, then, with its gigantic four-poster bed covered in a slippery satin duvet. And its giant full-length mirror. And its dark, heavy curtains. And its modern, matching dark wood furniture. And its leopard-print shower curtain. And its e-NOR-mous flat-screen tv fixed to the wall.

Never mind that it looks even MORE like a porn set at night, as if that were possible, when the entire flat is gently bathed in the bright red glow from the enormous sign that loudly proclaims RAMEE SUITES 2 from the top of the building nearby.

No, never mind. It's mine, it's perfectly located, it has a wonderful building manager whom I've already got wrapped around my little finger, and for now, it's home.

Now please excuse me while I just do a quick sweep of the place to check for cameras .....

It's the little things.....

2010-10-25T15:13:00.001+11:00

Well, I suppose if you are a Sultanate, you can have yourself a National Chip, can't you?

Here in Bahrain there are so many cool things that are Just Like Home ... except for a few little details. I love this kind of stuff because it's what reminds you that I'm not at home in Australia doing the same old thing - I'm off having a Middle Eastern adventure!

So I've decided I'm going to do a semi-regular post called It's The Little Things, where I show you something that's same, but different.


Green salt and vinegar packet instead of pink

Today it's chip snacks. Now, if you know me, you know I love my chips - give me something salty over something sweet any day. And one of the things I love to do in a new country is go and check out the supermarket and all the strange and unusual products they have.

Aren't these subtle differences just great? They give me such a What The moment!

Not Twisties, but .... Fonzies?!

Call me an idiot. Go on. I deserve it.

2010-10-21T05:16:00.002+11:00

Oh my god, I've done something really stupid. REALLY stupid. I blame it on the jet lag.

I've signed up for the Bahrain Marathon. I am a stupid, stupid person.

What's worse, is that even though I only have to run a small 3kilometre leg because this is an office-relay thing; I did not check any of the surrounding details.

Like, where is this marathon event to be held? Answer: not on any of the lovely flat, straight roads all over Manama, the capital city here. Oh no. This marathon is to be held in the desert. Up and down the dunes. In the sand. Sand in my sneakers.

And, when is this marathon event to be held? Answer: next week. Next Friday, to be precise. I have exactly 10 days to train.

Moreover, what time of day is this marathon event to be held? Answer: not at 6am, as you might expect for a marathon in a desert, when it is warm and around 26 degrees already. In Dubai, the Samsung 10km run I did as part of the Dubai Marathon event started at 6am, so that people had a chance of completing it.

No, this marathon starts at TEN AM AND GOES TIL THREE. The hottest part of the day! When it will be 35 degrees! And the sun will be out! You know how I feel about the sensation of sun on my skin. My god, people, that is exactly the part of day that it is recommended you stay OUT of, not go running in. I fully expect to crisp up and blow away like a dead leaf.

Apparently last year a guy died from heat exhaustion during this thing. He was 30. It was late November then. So in their infinite wisdom, the organisers have moved it up a month to October, when the temperature is even higher.

I'm afraid. I'm very afraid.

Up with the birds

2010-10-20T13:30:00.000+11:00

Five-thirty am, and the sun is slowly rising outside my hotel room window. I know, because I've watched it since I woke at half-past four.

Jetlag still has me in its tight grasp, and I've been managing around five or six hours of sleep a night - nothing near the eight hours I need in order to function effectively. Plus the coffee here is terrible as there's nothing like fresh milk available. I'm using a powdered horror called "Coffeemate" - not MY mate, I can assure you - though the locals use condensed milk. Ugh! No wonder Starbucks is so popular.

One good thing about the the jetlag though is that I'm getting lots of exercise. When I wake up early there's no point lying in bed, as I never go back to sleep. So I've been spending an hour in the lovely resort pool, slowly swimming laps backwards and forwards while the whole place is deserted, though I get some strange looks when the staff come on deck at six am.

On Monday I even asked for the gym to be unlocked for me, and one of the very nice reception staff couldn't quite believe her ears and asked me why, with a look of amazement on her face. I explained the jetlag, and she kind of understood but I think she was still sceptical.

This morning I also have a job interview via phone, for a position back in Melbourne, so I want to be nice and alert for it. I think a good swim, followed by a hearty breakfast, is the best way to approach that.

So, I'm off. The pool awaits.