I cut down the lavender which was far more difficult than I expected. I read the instructions on line for drying lavender. There was something about a dark airy room and nothing about upsetting it all over the floor in a clumsy moment. I will hoover it up and spread an aroma more pleasant than that of dog, our usual smell, throughout the house. In the absence of a dark airy room such as a garage I have hung bunches of lavender all over the place. "Why does our house smell like an old lady's handbag?" ask the boys. Oh go away.
Why does what I am supposed to be doing and what I am actually doing never equate to the same thing? I am supposed to be covering that chair. It was something I was really quite looking forward to until Mr Smith made it my "task whilst he was away" whereupon it became Herculean and unappealing. I have covered the bedroom in pins and bits of cotton and stared quite hard at the chair but I then started hand quilting the secret patchwork which is totally compulsive. I could sit for hours and hours quilting away. All I need is a little cotton bonnet and an imaginary friend called Jacob reading the Bible to me and I'd be totally Amish.
I thought perhaps I could take the secret patchwork to France with me and quilt it there. It would be easier than taking the chair. It looks like the burning of some midnight oil tonight unless I want to face a lecture about starting things and never finishing them followed by extermination on Mr Smith's return tomorrow night. As soon as it is done I can sit in it and design my lavender bags.
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