I fear I may be developing Brocketty tendencies. I spent the morning binding the quilt:
The binding is not made from T-shirt material like the rest of the quilt (couldn’t face the horror of binding it with jersey) so I cut strips from a pair of trousers instead. The fabric is a nice, stable cotton-linen mix. Worked well. So I am almost pleased with the quilt now. More from it tomorrow. But after my craft task was complete what did I do? Write? Go for a run? Read the knitting supplement in the Guardian? Oh no. I made wee buns. And then I decorated them.
Ye gods. I actually enjoyed piping the icing and everything.
Nothing wrong with making or decorating buns, you might say, but it is so unlike me that I felt something must surely be amiss. Anyway, they turned out reasonably well — I managed not to have a disaster with the colour in the icing, and, though they are intended for tomorrow’s picnic, I’ve already guzzled a fair few of these babies. I put orange zest and orange oil in them. Very tasty. So, I’m hoping this isn’t the start of something worrying, and that the cake-decorating activities are just part of the general novelty of having unimpeded access to the mixing bowl. Mr B usually does all the baking around here. And today he is out running in the hills.
Speaking of the kitchen, here’s something in it I like just as much as the buns — two moth buddies who came in our open windows last night. They are so pretty I haven’t got the heart to evict ’em.
If they were of the wool eating kind it would of course be a different matter.