Dream state

I love those magic bedtime moments where you hover with one thought on the logical (I must get my car booked in for its MOT) and the dream (a metal stag chases you through a bluebell wood whilst singing My Way). At this point you either pull yourself back into wakefulness or slip into the Land of Nod.

Just saying...

Busy as a bee

Hello, hello! What do we have here? I can smell something seriously sweet and delicious but where the wasp is it? Are these actually flowers cause they look a bit like dragons...

 

Aha! I have located the source of that scent, it sure is intoxicating. The only problem is though, that to get at it appears to involve me opening up and then climbing inside the mouth of this dragon. Probably not wise, but seriously you should smell this stuff. I'm intoxicated!

 

That's it! I'm in. It's a bit dark in here. Anyone got a light? Eek, the mouth is closing... Help!

 

 

Phew! Made it out alive! Ooh, what do we have here? I can smell something seriously sweet and delicious...

 

Chaos theory

I'm not entirely sure how I do it, perhaps it's a genetic thing or maybe it just comes down to years of practice; but the truth is that I can can't help but make mess wherever I go.

This time yesterday I had a tidy kitchen table. It was set up perfectly for its intended use - notably: 'eating from'. This morning, as if the fairies had come a-visiting during the hours of darkness, it has turned into this.

Yes, indeed it is the resulting peril that comes from taking an artistic course entitled PaperLove. It means I am allowed to pull out all of my many stashes and scatter them to the wild domestic winds as I breeze through my home on a creative high.

I have been saving many of these scraps of wrapping paper, receipts from foreign retail emporiums, old paper bags and brightly patterned scrapbooking sheets for a 'special occasion' and, dear readers, it appears that very event has arrived. Yet, despite the fact it has sat in a box for years just 'waiting', I am still strangely reluctant to use my precious. I suspect this is why I am sitting here looking at a pile of paper rather than a beautifully hand-crafted book made from the same. I have the rough pressed ragged edge equivalent of stage fright.

Time to take that handmade paper with real flower petals embedded in its glorious texture and make something. Avast me hearties. I'm off!