Great British Sewing Bee – And The Winner Is…

Here it is…the finale of the Great British Sewing Bee and it didn’t disappoint. Ann, Sandra and Lauren sewed a men’s shirt, hand embroidered a purse and fitted and created a ladies evening dress.

I loved Sandra’s cheeky attitude. I wanted to hug Lauren and tell her that she’s really good. And Ann, well, she needed no encouragement whatsoever.

Who won? I’m not going to spoil it but I will say that there will be another Sewing Bee. Yippee! Until then, I’m going to have to write about something else on this blog.



Great British Sewing Bee – Episode 3

It’s semi-final time and one contestant goes home. Now that it’s down to four, the viewers get a chance to see how good these sewers really are. About 24 minutes into the episode there is a delightful segment about British sewers during World War II and the “Make Do and Mend” movement.

The finals are next week and I’m all aquiver!

Great British Sewing Bee – Episode 2

The Great British Sewing Bee, episode 2 is online and this time 2 contestants are sent home. I was able to guess which ones before the reveal but, that being said, they are way better sewers than I am. This episode was just as good as the first one. My only complaint: I want to move the bangs from the hosts’s eyes.

Great British Sewing Bee

Over the last 12 months I’ve gotten into sewing. My criterion is if I’m not embarrassed wearing it in public, then it’s a success. Never would I show my stitches to a seamstress. I know my abilities, thank you very much.

Tax-payer supported BBC has a new show, The Great British Sewing Bee. Basically, the Corporation throws together a group of disparate Brits and have them do various sewing projects in a set amount of time. Two judges critique everyone and decides who “goes home.”

Viewer stress rises when Michelle stretches out her silk and Tilly becomes over ambitious with her pattern design. It’s all in good fun and I like the fact that there is no backstabbing and no personal sob stories, a la NBC’s Olympic Athlete mini-bios.

Check out the first episode for yourself:

Let’s Get Started

Wow, it’s been over a year since my last post? Yeah, that’s sounds about right. I wish I could say that I’ve been hiking the Appalachian Trail or went on a ‘Round-The-World cruise on the QE3. No. I’ve just been living a quiet, dull life and writing a blog just didn’t fit. But now I feel the spirit leading me to write again.

Let’s get started….I just finished L.M. Mongomery’s, Emily of New Moon, and here’s an excerpt that struck me. Discuss amongst yourselves:

“And you won’t be ashamed of me because my clothes are always queer and because I don’t believe in God?”

“No. But if you knew Father’s God you’d believe in Him.”

“I wouldn’t. Besides, there’s only one God if there is any at all.”

“I don’t know,” said Emily perplexedly. “No, it can’t be like that. Ellen Greene’s God isn’t a bit like Father’s, and neither is Aunt Elizabeth’s. I don’t think I’d like Aunt Elizabeth’s, but He is a dignified God at least, and Ellen’s isn’t. And I’m sure Aunt Laura’s is another one still – nice and kind but not wonderful like Father’s.”

“Well never mind – I don’t like talking about God,” said Ilse uncomfortably.

“I do,” said Emily. “I think God is a very interesting subject, and I’m going to pray for you, Ilse, that you can believe in Father’s God.”

“Don’t you dast!” shouted Ilse, who for some mysterious reason did not like the idea. “I won’t be prayed for!”

“Don’t you ever pray yourself, Ilse?”

“Oh, now and then – when I feel lonesome at night – or when I’m in a scrape. But I don’t want any one else to pray for me. If I catch you doing it, Emily Starr, I’ll tear your eyes out. And don’t you go sneaking and praying for me behind my back either.”

“All right, I won’t,” said Emily sharply, mortified at the failure of her well-meant offer. “I’ll pray for every single soul I know, but I’ll leave you out.”

For a moment Ilse looked as if she didn’t like this either. Then she laughed and gave Emily a volcanic hug.

“Well, anyway,, please like me. Nobody likes me, you know.”

He So Pretty and Righteous

The pretty boy you see in the below YouTube clip is Justin Trudeau, son of Pierre. Pierre was a major political force in Canadian politics in the latter half of the twentieth century and his son, Justin, is hoping for the same place in history.  For any Americans reading this, substitute “Trudeau” with “Kennedy.”

I’m not going to comment on the politics of this 3 minute clip. What struck me most about it is the self-entitlement of a privileged politician. His liberal views MUST BE shared by ALL Canadians. BTW, who talks about himself in the third person?

Another thing that struck me about Justin’s press statement, it came across as a third-rate t.v. movie about a young, principled politician striving to change a corrupt government. Unfortunately the actor, chosen because the producers thought he reminded them of Christian Bale, is as third-rate as the script, strutting to the microphone, chewing the scenery in his overheated “earnestness.” I love the two female reporters flanking Justin; one looks like she’s falling asleep and the other turns her face away (from laughing?). I particularly love the very end when you hear a reporter yell, “Oh, come on!”

That Anne Girl, VIII

Just before Christmas I finished the last Anne book, Rilla of Ingleside. It was a fine book but the characters didn’t draw me in; though I did cry at the death of a certain character. (No Spoilers!!!) I think Montgomery was glad to put her imaginary PEI friends to rest.

Here’s a piece from Rilla of Ingleside:

“Where are you wandering, Anne o’ mine?” asked the doctor, who even yet, after twenty-four years of marriage, occasionally addressed his wife thus when nobody was about. Anne was sitting on the veranda steps, gazing absently over the wonderful bridal world of spring blossom. Beyond the white orchard was a copse of dark young firs and creamy wild cherries, where the robins were whistling madly; for it was evening and the fire of early stars was burning over the maple grove.

Anne came back with a little sigh.

“I was just taking relief from intolerable realities in a dream, Gilbert – a dream that all our children were home again – and all small again – playing in rainbow Valley. It is always so silent now – but I was imagining I heard clear voices and gay, childish sounds coming up as I used to.”


The doctor did not answer. Sometimes his work tricked him into forgetting for a few moments the western front, but not often. There was a good deal of grey now in his still thick curls that had not been there two years ago. Yet he smiled down into the starry eyes he loved – the eyes that had once been so full of laughter, and now seemed always so full of unshed tears.