First Rule of Cwtch Club – Nobody enter Cwtch Club (except me. And maybe TMM)

I feel I’ve made a bit of a faux par this month – celebrating my ability to keep a blog going for a whole year and then not actually writing a post the very next week. Annoyingly, I seemed to be lacking in inspiration and motivation, though that really isn’t a valid excuse for a writer. The joy of writing is that if you write enough chaff, you will eventually find some wheat and then it’s just a matter of culling the crap. But alas, I had no go last Tuesday and consequently the world remained blogless. Still, I am returned now with plenty of content so we’ll just chalk up last week’s failings to experience and carry on regardless.

This week (or should I say last week), TMM and I started a new project – partly due to necessity and partly because I really think with do life better when we’ve got something to focus on. We’re very lucky to have a spare room at home, though before people start thinking it’s because we live in a mansion, I’d like to point out that it’s because we actually live in a normal house with a multitude of tiny rooms. We have a “dressing room” purely because we can’t fit anything other than a bed in the main bedroom, and the spare room is less of an extra bedroom (which I can attest to quite strongly after having to cram everything we owned in it for the first 8 months of living in the house) and more of a store room with a window.  However, I do not mean to sound ungrateful and the variety of odd sized living spaces does mean I get to spread my craft around liberally rather than having to try and bulk it all in one specific place.

Anyway, for most of this year, the spare room has housed a ratty old mattress covered in cat fur , a rather upsetting amount of cobwebs and a couple of sewing machines. Mainly we have just pulled the door to and tried to ignore it, because why fix a problem when you can hide it? But no more, I cry! After minimal debate and maximum enthusiasm, we’ve decided we’re going to repurpose it into the “Hygge Cwtch” (basic translation – cosy cubbyhole) – because why jump on just one multicultural décor based bandwagon when you could jump on two? As winter is coming in and consequently our heating bill is about to rocket dramatically (I don’t do well in the cold), we’ve come to the conclusion that moving our evenings to a smaller, cosier, warmer and easier-to-light room is really the only (and most eco firnedly) option. We’re going to use the spare room as a mini living room and the downstairs as somewhere to eat and entertain – at least that’s what we’re aiming for…

Before doing anything sensible though, like drawing up a list of costings, proper requirements or measurements, I obviously created a new Pinterest board and pinned crucial items such as fake plants and pleasing colour schemes (cream/pale grey/latte for anyone who’s interested). I also spent FAR too long drawing up plans of how I wanted the room to look – all of which are completely null and void because how big I think to room is and how big the room actually is differ wildly. Still I had a lot of fun pretending to be Alan Titchmarsh from GroundForce.

plan

Please enjoy my professional and highly accurate diagram

Now, as we have stupidly decided we’re going to take on this new, not insignificantly sized project a month before Christmas when we have no money, time or daylight, we’re working to quite a restricted timeline. Our outside activities (including but not limited to furious sanding and painting) which would have happily been done after work in the summer now can only be completed in a 4 hour window on the weekend between bouts of rain and darkness. Regardless of that though, I feel we’ve achieved quite a lot this weekend and am terribly proud of us. Considering we only decided what we were planning to do at the beginning of the month, the day bed (which was the biggest concern) is already practically finished. TMM deftly managed to liberate three full sized pallets from his place of work, and I spent Saturday happily wrapped in every jumper I own, sanding away to my heart’s content. I was forced to take a Wilko’s break to pick up some new paint, purely because TMM says that sanding for two hours straight is detrimental to my health (spoil sport), but before the daylight faded we had two smooth and painted pallets drying up against the wall.

TMM hard at work priming like a pro and me doing my best bank robber impression – protect eyes, nose and mouth. Remember Kids – Health and safety is paramount when doing DIY!

We have also repurposed one of the hideous mini MDF bookshelves from downstairs to be the new TV stand (with bonus room for adorable trinkets) though that wasn’t dealt with quite as successfully. We sanded, primed and tried to paint one coat, but due to unnecessary rainfall and unfortunate placement of protective tarpaulin, most of the paint was removed and some slight water damage was suffered. Still, nothing was irrevocably harmed and the item in question is currently chilling by the backdoor, recovering from the experience and providing endless amusement to the cat. In the meantime, TMM has masses of fun hacking the old mattress into usable chunks with a breadknife and we’ve now got spare clumps of foam all over the place waiting to go to the tip. Hopefully, weather permitting on Saturday, I’ll be able to repaint and finish the new TV stand whilst TMM gets rid of all the excess crap and then on Sunday we’ll be able to start putting things in place and focusing on the little bits (which is clearly my favourite part). I’ve already added two fake trailing ivy plants and a couple of succulents to my amazon basket, and TMM has a lovely paper mache stag head in cream in bronze that he’s itching to hang in pride of place above the telly. (It allows him to live out his taxidermy dreams without me actually having to have stuffed animals all over the place – ignoring the Squirrel Guardians of Doom that sit on the mantelpiece downstairs giving me evils). I’m quite proud of us too, because the two main pieces of furniture have cost us a grand total of £27.97 (wood stain, paint and bedding), which means I can spend at least another £20 on accoutrements from IKEA and not feel too bad about it. I’ve already got my eye on a SUPER soft blanket and a fox shaped light in a bell jar which will go perfectly.

cwtch

Here we can see a mostly completed day bed – minus super soft cotton sheets, a dismembered mattress and an artfully placed stag head. Not bad for a day’s work!

Overall, by December, the Cwtch should be fully stocked, operational and ready to enjoy during the final stress fuelled push towards Christmas. Which is good, because I feel like I need an encouraging boost at this stage. The Christmas Present Tracker isn’t filling up with successful green boxes as quickly as I’d hoped and I’m having to fight off the rising tide of panic that’s approaching. Though, we’ve got two days off in November (well TMM has 3 but whatever) and as I said to TMM, Christmas is going to get DONE son. I want to go into December with only wrapping, labels and little sweet bundles left on the to-do list – Positive Mental Attitude people! At least I’m coping better than I was two weeks ago, when I was all for cancelling the whole season and spending the festive weekend in bed sulking massively. The older I get (and the more people move around) that harder I find Christmas. I mostly blame work (if I didn’t have to work at all, I could happily spend weeks travelling around leisurely and bestowing gifts happily), but mainly I think I’m just slowly transforming into the Grinch. Still, if I can achieve a new room under budget and within two weeks, I can definitely beat Christmas. 

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The Freedom of Being a D*ck

I’m a little behind this week as I recover from the seasonal sniffle that seems to be making the rounds rather aggressively. Whilst I am usually quite cocky about my immune system (which considering how lazy, unhealthy and prone to complaining I am, is surprisingly strong), I was struck down when I least expected it. The culprit? My small yet totes adorable niece, who proceeded to give me ALL of the snotty kisses last weekend whilst clambering over me in an attempt to keep a sensible baby eye on her mum at all opportunities, but I am loathed to hold her too accountable. She been struggling for longer than I have with this cold and has mostly been dealing with it with the stoic reserve of a solid little baby bundle.

I however, unlike Thea, have not dealt with it well. At all. In fact, I have lamented my fate loudly and with much sorrow, and even had a sick day last Wednesday so I could lie about in my stitch onesie with tissues shoved up my nose. So poorly was I that I was unable to blog, craft or do anything remotely useful and consequently I am terribly behind on all my life plans. WOE. However, I am now (mostly) recovered, though still marvelling at the amount of snot that one person can produce, and getting back on track.

SIDE NOTE – Saying that, TMM had to go to bed last night at 7pm because he was fevered and shaky, so whilst it seems I might be on the mend, poor Muffin might be looking down the barrel of the sickness cannon.

Fighting off the dreaded mucus monster was not the only blow that was delivered last week though. On the Thursday that I’d gone back to work (but definitely should not have done) – people even commented on how much of a minger I looked) I managed to lose the stone from my engagement ring.

Broken Ring

It’s like something from the Pink Panther only with less David Niven and more sadness.

After moaning my way through the say, sweating and snotting all over the place like some vile blob creature, I finally made it to home time and sloped off to the shop to pick up some essentials and wait for my ride. It was all fine until I was standing on the steps, keeping a weather eye out for Hans von Manschaft (VW extraordinaire) when I caught sight of my ring and realised glaringly that the opal that should have been set in place was missing. For a minute it was all I could do to stand outside Aldi with a bag full of chilli ingredient’s and the complete inability to do anything but stand and stare at the little empty gap. Then followed (in quick succession) intense panicked searching of my bag, my pockets, the surrounding floor area and the path I’d taken round Aldi. Once it was clear I wasn’t going to find anything (damn Aldi and their speckled linoleum floor choices) I trudged back to my post in the car park and hunkered down. TMM turned up not long after and before he’d even got a hello out, had to put up with me fluctuating between raucous nose blowing and pathetic whimpers (which he did very well). As he pointed out between gently patting my sweaty head and handing me tissues; it wasn’t something I’d done on purpose, it was unfixable, and at least we were now even (he’d caught his ring between a cabinet and wall at work and smashed it to pieces – though it did basically save him from an unexpected finger amputation).

I think I was actually most stunned about how affected I was and it’s hit me rather hard. I’ve always been attached to “things” (I love more by the Hoarder code than Buddhist teachings) and have been known to cry over the loss of the most stupid things, but sitting and staring the gap where the stone should be has made me realise quite how much I’d invested into this little ring. I’m not a huge romantic (you may have guessed, it’s not like I’ve said it a MILLION times), and I’m not really majorly fussed by marriage. It’s not that I’ve ever been strictly against it, but I didn’t spent countless hours as a little girl planning my dream day (I was far too busy planning my life as a famous author). Even now, it’s not the wedding that really bothers me. Don’t get me wrong, I will marry the absolute crap out of TMM, but the whole ritual of the thing has never appealed. Yet, realising I had damaged the one thing that was a physical representation really shook me up.

TMM has not allowed me to wallow in my sadness though. We’ve gone through the various stages of loss – Despair, Anger, Silkiness ((so much sulkiness) and he’s been very supportive the whole way through. We’ve already been on two day trips to various vintage barns and I’ve told him that if worst comes to the worst, I am willing to accept a full size brass diving helmet and a non-working gramophone as a replacement.

I just really think these would perfectly reflect our love. Also I want to see Bucky in the helmet SO BAD.

He’s also taken me to Primark this weekend for a new cardigan (and shirt…and makeup) and brought himself a SPECTACULAR corduroy jacket that just screams Brokeback Mountain. (He’s under strict instructions not to wear it with his corduroy trousers though, because I don’t think I can love a man who wears a full camel coloured corduroy suit). We also went for a lovely walk around our old stomping grounds at Keele on Sunday too. Now that TMM is a totes profesh photographer (like every good Action Man, he comes with his own removable attachments including: official camera bag with pockets, 2x tripods and cameras of varying sizes), we go out all over the place so he can practice his skills. He, very complimentary, wants to take lots of photos of me so he can trial everything out. I, very unhelpfully, am the worst model ever and cannot stand still for more than 2 minutes. To that end, most of the pictures he takes are accompanied by at least 3 others of me being an absolute tit.

Face 4

Strike a pose

It’s made me realise though that this could just be who I am as a person. At the ripe old age of 26, I now know who I am. I have come to the conclusion that I am never going to be one of those Instagram girls with perfect contouring, shiny hair and a fantastic cleavage. I mean, it’s not through lack of trying, but it’s just too hard. I would rather spend an extra ten minutes in bed that try to shape my eyebrows and I get panic sweats trying to order a McDonalds, nevermind travelling the globe in a tiny bikini and letting stranges goggle over my arse. However, I am able to pull a truly awful face at a moment’s notice and I can throw down some mad shapes like an epileptic llama. You want a girl that can gurn like a good’un? I’m the one for you. Need someone to do a little impromptu dance number in the middle of the forest whilst you set your gear yp? You’re looking at her? Want a Facebook montage full of perfectly edited yet ridiculously hideous faces that will make you laugh yourself silly? You know who to call.

Let’s face it, I’m never going to be able to keep it straight for that long, and why bother when I look so hilarious otherwise? As someone pointed out, there’s a certain safety in looking like a complete berk. The worse you look, the funnier the pictures are and you end up achieving the perfect “bad” picture without even having to try. This way, I can tick off “approval from others”, “all of the likes on social media” and “helping TMM with his hobby” in one fell swoop and I didn’t even have to put any effort in. It’s a pretty good life lesson for self confidence as well. It can be really hard sometimes to look in the mirror and deal with trying to make your face look presentable when all you feel like is a pile of poop. Your hair is a mess, your eyeliner is wonky and your complexion is blotchy like a 3 year olds painting and your self esteem plummets before you’ve even left the house. This way, you can go out there, pull a stupid face and post a photo whilst having a giggle and within minutes you’ve got people telling you it’s hilarious. The barrier or your self-confidence is well and truly broken because, let’s face it, you couldn’t look worse if you tried and if people like you when you look like that, they’re going to be happy with you no matter what.

A couple of classics