I shared this rainbows and butterflies textile piece on Social Media. I made it in response to all the rainbows being shared during lockdown for Corona Virus. I was asked (and offered) to share my processes for using Lutradur for those who use Free motion Machine embroidery so I thought I’d have a go at a Lutradur Tutorial!

lutradur

Lutradur is a manmade fabric that you can sew, paint and melt holes into! It comes in different weights – light, meduim and heavy. I mostly use medium and heavy and I buy it online from Colourcraft and ArtVanGo (I have no affiliation with them – its just where I have found it available!). Stitching lutradur gives it structure when you melt holes in to it. it shrinks too so experiment with size. if you stitch a shape it will retain that shape when you apply heat.
I LOVE lutradur! full of texture when melted and so versatile. Perfect for leaves and flowers and wings! I even did a portrait of my daughter with it!

Fairy Tutorial

To make the fairy you will need the following (if you are just doing a butterfly you can modify the instructions for the fairy wings and use medium or heavy lutradur)

• Water soluble paper (14cm x 12cm)
• Lutradur Medium weight (15cm x 14cm)
• Fusible web (bondaweb) (12cm x 12cm max)
• White medium weight canvas (230gsm) size depends on project. Fairy fits on to 15cm x 15cm piece
• Machine thread – variegated pinks and purples and or pink and purple
• Small amount of heat bondable Angelina fibre (in co-ordinating colour)
• Small amount of curly sheep locks (colour of choice)
• Heat gun
• Sewing machine
• OPTIONAL – inktense inks or similar

Instructions

1. Starting with a simple line drawing, trace the fairy (but not the wings) on to water-soluble paper. I find this the easiest way to transfer an image onto fabric but there are lots of other ways! (I cant work out how to upload the PDF for the outlines so please contact and follow me via social media – links below- with your email and I can email it to you)
2. Trace enlarged wings (they shrink with heat) on to medium weight lutradur.
3. Place the water-soluble paper drawing of the fairy onto the canvas.
4. Set up sewing machine for free motion machine embroidery with darning needle drop foot and zero stitch length and dog feed down or covered.
5. Stitch the lines of the fairy (but not wings) in variegated thread colour of choice. You can go over the lines twice if desired for a bolder outline
6. Cut away the water-soluble paper and sponge wash any remaining paper. Leave to dry
7. Use small curly sheep locks (or wool) to shape the hair on the fairy
8. Stitch into place using wavy lines (don’t over stitch and leave some strands free. Use a kebab stick or similar to hold locks in place whilst sewing.
9. Stich 2 fairy wings outlines on the lutradur (front wing and back wing) using co-ordinating thread. Go over the lines and create a lacy effect. It doesn’t have to be precise. I also do the same again in lighter thread
10. Cut out the wings leaving a small border.
11. Using a heat gun hold each wing in turn with scissors or similar on a heat proof surface (a tin lid or ceramic tile or plate) and ‘melt’ around the edges and melt holes in to the wings. If you haven’t used lutradur before have a play with a little sample first to see how close to hold the heat gun to get the desired effect.
12. Iron on fusible web to the back of the wings and peel off backing paper
13. Lay a thin layer of heat bondable Angelina fibres onto the back of the wings on top of the fusible web. Cover with brown paper and briefly iron (it bonds very quickly). The Angelina fibre will adhere to the fusible web and show through the melted holes and around the edges of the wings. If there is too much excess gently tear off
14. OPTIONAL: Before sewing on fairly wings add splashes of watered down ink using inktense blocks or similar. I like the imperfect effect this gives. Avoid splashing the fairy!
15. Attach wings using free motion machine stitching. Sew the smaller wing first, attaching along the back edge only. Attach the larger wing on top just at the shoulder so that it is able to ‘flap’

The fairy is complete!

Butterflies and leaves are made in the same way as the wings
Have fun!

If you share what you have made, be sure to credit The Ugly House on social media.
Links below.

Thank you

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My Rainbows and Butterflies is also available on Redbubble

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Normally, I can barely muster a pot noodle when I’m feeling down. These are not normal times. I feel like a weird stepford wife in a strange disaster movie. I have just baked a lovely white loaf of bread and broccoli and stilton soup – all from scratch… for lunch …whilst looking like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards. I have mascara streaks down my cheeks from crying earlier because I saw a post on Instagram that really resonated – full of anxiety – cancelled plans; scary news; concern that their dad was still going out to the shops. I reflected on all the things I was anxious about, not least, my 82 year old dad fetching his morning paper. I felt overwhelmed. I guess the most surprising thing is I actually put mascara on in the first place this morning! I consider mascara as essential as brushing my teeth. When I stop doing either I am in trouble but at this rate I might have to rethink my stance on mascara!.

I read a heartbreaking post on fb. An old school friend’s wife is in intensive care in an induced coma while she fights this killer virus. He has a daily update from a designated liaison officer. A nurse brushes his wife’s teeth every day. There is humanity and hope.

I first learned to make bread in another strange episode of my life … when I moved to America. Like now, I was isolated from my friends and family. It was the first time in 20 years that I had time on my hands. I didn’t work. I had high hopes and huge plans to do art, to learn new skills, to study. I didn’t! I baked bread and I wondered what the fuck had happened to me and life as I knew it. I’m still wondering now! I blogged about it at the time.

People in lockdown are finding themselves with time and a pressure to do something meaningful. Twats like me post pictures of lovely homebaked bread. People share their new ‘artistic journeys’ or the amazing impact of their new keep fit regimes. My own post is illustration enough that posts on social media are not real. Sure I baked some bread but I am utterly lost and bewildered by what is happening in the wider world and in my home. Summer holiday plans in ruins, GCSE’s for my son, my daughters art course, cancelled concerts, postoperative physio therapy cancelled, broken washing machine…All overwhelm! That’s just short term… long term thoughts threaten to engulf me. At the same time I am truly thankful that we are safe, that I don’t have the daily risks that others have… but this also adds guilt to the mix.

So, just like 10 years ago, I bake bread, I post glossy pics on social media. I apply mascara and try to make sense of the strange times I find myself in!

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Star of the small screen!

I dont know what possessed me to apply for not one but 2 TV shows last summer. I didn’t tell anyone about the second application and people only found out about the first becasue I was successful (if you consider getting on to the show as a success!)
I applied to be on Kirstie’s Handmade Christmas. In June! I entered the wreath making competition. I made a couple of christmassy poinsettias out of Lutradur and Angelina fibres with my sewing machine – as you do! When I applied, I had not watched a full episode of the show or ever made more than 2 flowers let alone a whole wreath full. Not a well thought out plan!

My second entry was to Ramsay Studios. I’m not sure that in telling you about this I might be zapped dead on the spot. They said if you tell anyone, we will have to kill you. It was a big secret. This was to star in a new craft show. I saw the appeal for contestants on fb and thought why the fuck not. Silly me! I spent two minutes sending a few pics of the sort of things I did and filling in the form. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I got a call from them and a very nice man chatted to me about my crafts. I then got an email asking me to send a 20 minute craft type video. I got the email on Friday – I was in Germany – to send the video on Monday by 4pm. It had to be unedited. I got back from Germany at 11pm on Sunday night. Having never made a video in my life and hating seeing myself even on facetime, on Monday I made a video – using the bits I’d made for a Christmas Wreath – In June- to apply to Kirstie’s Handmade Christmas, for expediency!

They must’ve liked the video. I got a call whilst on a surprise 25th Wedding anniversary trip to Barcelona to go for an audition in London. I flew home on Friday – went to London on Saturday and flew to Croatia on Sunday on my family holiday! A crazy few days. I felt a tiny bit like a jetsetting movie star – if they feel knackered, over anxious, travel sick and out of their tiny minds!

The day was long 10-3.30 (not including travel there and back) and NO FUCKING LUNCH – from Gordon Ramsay’s own TV production company. (the swearing is a tribute to Gordon). I get that the man himself wouldn’t be there serving up Breast of Guinea Fowl with Pomegranate Dressing but you’d think someone could’ve rustled up a sandwich. I didnt even get a cup of tea! There were 6 of us- we did a task. We were given a box of stuff and told to craft something that represented us. We were filmed during the process and asked what were were going to make, and what the fuck we had made (as it wasn’t always obvious) in the allotted time – like being on master chef but with coloured paper and glue guns and certainly no food! did I mention I didn’t get lunch? We then had individual interviews – on camera- for an hour. Somehow I felt so relaxed I shared my favourite swear word. I thought Gordon would appreciate it.

I didn’t hear from them for weeks! It turned out they wanted crafters to make massive props. I guess they should have thought about who they called for audition a little more carefully. I dont make massive things. Maybe they weren’t so keen on swearing as I thought they would be. I was sad not to be picked at the time but to my knowledge the show never aired and I did get picked for the other TV show (that’s another story) but you can see the episode here .

So here is the video I submitted which prompted them to pick me for the audition from 1000’s of applicants. I have never shared this ever and can only put it down to being stir crazy (in Coronavirus lockdown) to be sharing it now, but if you did want to cringe along or even make lutradur flowers then this is for you!

I will do a step by step tutorial to go with the video… at some point

Craft Vid – An illustrated guide to making Lutradur Flowers!

Making Poinsettias using Lutradur, free motion machine embroidery and inktense inks! It was done in one take and no editing! Be kind!
Why am I not being snapped up by Hochanda?????!!!!!!

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Chickeedee

My best buddy’s Mother runs an animal Charity shop. There is a Facebook group called ‘Charity Shop Shit’ dedicated to people posting the things dreadful things they have seen in Charity shops: Fred’s teeth; butt plugs labeled as cocktail stirrers, Chucky dolls, Angela’s ashes…  Someone got confused about how charity shops work and rather donate their shit for people to buy or buy the charity shop shit to help the cause of animals in need, they donated their unwanted dog. They left her there on death’s door. Literally!

I acquired my third rescue as a consequence. Calling Chicken ‘chicken’ based on her appearance was unkind to plucked chickens. She had scratched, whittled and fettled her skin on her back and arms and legs (doggy arms and legs) in to a weeping, bald, scarred mess. I met her days before Christmas …In the pub.  Fatal!

I knew about her and I was trying not to succumb. I had avoided meeting her. She was being loved and nurtured by my friend’s mom who dearly wanted to keep her but already had 5 rescues… Hazard of the job! Her skin problems were because of severe unknown allergies. She was on medication, daily baths and wearing doggy dresses to protect her skin. She was seriously under-nourished and had just had a litter of puppies, certainly not her first. She was around 2 years old. She was a total mess.

I was hijacked. They tricked me into meeting at the pub for our annual Christmas gift exchange. I didn’t expect the dog to be there given I cant take Puggy to pubs. He bit the landlady and barmaid at our local.  They casually handed Chickee (formally known as Bambino) over as my gift. My 12-year-old son held her and joined in the relentless haranguing for me to adopt her. If I had taken her home before Christmas, I think hubby would have left me after the previous Christmas Missy Pissy Fiasco rescue. Even waiting 2 months and taking her home at all means our marriage is still in the balance. Like Puggy, hubby hasn’t forgiven me for the intrusion of yet another rescue dog.

She is ugly, putting aside the warty crusty ears and plucked chicken look. She is proper full-on goggly-eyed Chihuahua with a short little snout …Too short, she snores and grunts like a wart hog! Her saving grace? She doesn’t bite (and thank f#&k she doesn’t lick… see below!) She has the sweetest most trusting nature. Given her start in life – we learned she was kept in a shed in her own shit and bred from to make money – she is so trusting. She just wants to be loved. Ironically, she only shows aggression towards Charlie and he’s the reason we had her. She senses a pecking order and clearly thinks she is vying for her place in direct competition with Charlie.

Loving her is sometimes made difficult by the habits that her early life style incurred. She shits her own bed. Nightly! Still! A year on! I crate the dogs at night. I made the mistake of putting her in with Puggy once. Puggy hates getting his paws dirty. He knows he’s a show dog! She shat in HIS bed. HE spent so long trying to push the soiled bedding out of the way with his nose that he made it red raw. He still has the scars. He hates Chicket with a passion. Even sharing the multiple morphing name phenomenon with her doesn’t do anything to endear her to him.

I’ve you are feeling for Pugget’s poo pain experience, I cant even tell you that she eats the poo, steaming hot and fresh out of Missy’s bottom like a bad movie remake ‘The Doggy Centipede – no sewing required’. You might think too badly of her. She does have an excuse. In the wild, nursing wolves eat their own poo to safeguard their puppies. Chickee had so many puppies at her young age her fanny dangled like a carrier bag along with her drooping udders. Besides, Missy has no excuse for scrambling for the fresh cat shit the second she hears the cat scratching at the cat litter and we still love her. At least Chickee eats poo for some vague altruistic reason.

Missy is indifferent to Chickee unless it’s when she joins in the daily cat scramble, then Missy would fight to the death for the spoils of war.  It can be quite disconcerting for eyewitnesses when I join in too (preventative intervention measures, of course, I dont actually want the cat shit personally) Chickee is indifferent to Missy’s indifference and sleeps on her head. She always wants to be as close as possible to someone. If you sit down she will mountaineer over the other dogs to sleep as close to your head as possible.

Chickeedee had never really been on a walk. She waddled, she was so unused to walking at all. She had no strength in her muscles. She couldn’t jump up. We’d had her 2 months when she got though a little gap on our balcony. We had never used it. It was a nice summer evening and teenagers had invaded our garden. Bastards! We decided to sit on our balcony with a G&T (something we shall tell prospective buyers we do all the time when we come to sell The Ugly House – selling the dream!) Chickee found the gap, waddled along the ledge and dropped 8 foot. She was so floppy she just flopped, got up and ran around a little alarmed and confused about her sudden change in surroundings, but otherwise unharmed. The teenagers were crying laughing at my traumatised screams from the G&T terrace. Bastards!

It is a joy to watch her, eighteen months on, running after squirrels in the garden with the other two and keeping up. She doesn’t know she is running after squirrels. Neither does Missy. Only Puggy, with his clever little mongrel brain, knows what he is doing, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

For Chicken’s first year we had to dress her. I’m not sure how I feel about dressing dogs. Puggy loves a nice jumper but Missy stands paralyzed and unable to move if you try to dress her. Chickee’s extensive wardrobe was for medicinal reasons. It stopped her scratching. We tried everything. I tried every herbal miracle cure going. We had her allergy tested. She was allergic to damp, mites and grass. Not easily avoided. The anti itch medicine lowers immunity and she was already a scabby mess. The vet, an amazing Romanian, who shouts CHICKEEEEEeeeeee every time he sees her (one of her many name variations), recommended a costly but effective monthly injection. She had 1 and it was like a miracle. She had the second month’s jab for good measure. She no longer wears dresses or has purply warty ears, although she is still pig ugly and still eats shit. Seeing her not nibbling away constantly (at her skin at least) brings home how truly crappy little shitty chickee’s existence was before her fortuitous and charitable donation.

Picture of Chickee – free motion machine stitching on canvas and organza

Previous tales of the other two dogs: Read about Puggy HERE and HERE and Missy HERE and HERE!

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Confidential ASBO files

An Uplifting introduction from the RT Hon Jack Fuckwit MP in conjunction with the Home Office and Youth Justice Board:

Be alert! Your Country Needs Lerts! We all need to be A Lert to the thoughtless, inconsiderate behavior of others, which blights the quality of community life; that aggressive, loutish behaviour epitomised by Missy Pissy Pants

I recommend this file to all those good citizens who need to know what to be a lert to, and all those thugs to realize that we will not tolerate your anti social shit and the punishments are significant.

FILE NOTES

Surname: Pissypants 

Forename: Missy

Age: Claims to be a puppy but her breath stinks like catshit

Home circumstances: Lives with other problematic individuals:

• Step Brother Pugget who uses way too many aliases, a violent and dangerous individual. Missy has had sexual relations with this family member. Puggy has an ASBO for stealing bones from the neighbour (not always their actual bones) . See appendices
•  Ruby, an ancient cat who rules the roost. Puggy is terrified of her but Missy is not!
• Chicken, newest member of the family, also uses many aliases. Licks Missy’s arse, literally

Pissypants did not have the best start in life. Born in a puppy farm and evicted from said farm

Charges:

Continued anti-social behaviour:

• Harrassment of individuals or passersby
• Assault
• Vandalism
• Criminal damage

Summary of incidents

Harrassment of individuals or passersby/Assault

• She will not approach strangers and only bites them when they are not looking… on their ankles… hard. She thinks its funny to creep up behind unsuspecting visitors and nip them. The faster they walk the harder she bites.
• Lunging at random ankles when walking in busy locations

Vandalism

• Chewing the corners of MDF skirting boards in The Ugly House
• Digging big holes in lawn and rolling in worms

Theft and vandalism

Missy’s parent is a fibre artist (Self proclaimed, possibly made-up profession) Missy steals and savages small felted animals and returns them to their original fibrous state undoing hours and hours of work

Breaking and entering

• Trespassing in left hand neighbours garden and harassing their cats (cats were not in danger, they are bigger than Missy, but then so was Tradesman)
• Barking at neighbours, left and right hand side when they shoo her way, even when they try to kick her

Criminal damage

Entering neighbours property at Christmas time, stealing a sheepskin slipper (gift) from upstairs bedroom and killing it, causing a mass of debris in The Ugly House. Associated costs £7048 (£48 for slipper and £7000 for new fencing to contain Missy – possibly an inflated price following injury incurred by tradesman, concreate base panels were needed to prevent defendant digging under them)

Engaging in threatening and/or anti social behaviour in family group

• Rolling in Fox poo (as a threesome)
• Trespassing in neighbouring gardens (as a twosome)
• Stealing cat poo from litter tray and eating it (as a competitive race)
• Psychotic behaviour on walks (I believe this will be explained in a later submission)
• Vying for a place in the family pecking order by harassing Charlie

Any character points to consider in defendants favour

• She is playful and knows how to fetch (the only family member who does)
• Parent claims biting is done out of affection (except for tradesman)
• Ever so gently takes food from fingers without causing injury (something the other two cannot manage)
• She matches the sofas, co-ordinating nicely with the decor

Assessment of needs:

Bootcamp discipline or current methods: Love; TLC; reassurance; humour (she has plenty but no one else finds her funny)

Findings

Utterly guilty! The defendant behaves at all times in an anti-social manner. An order is necessary for the protections of persons from further anti-social behaviour by the defendant

Appendices:

Puggy’s convictions

• Accepting excessive bribes in the form of sausages and pork chops from the builders at The Ugly House in exchange for safe passage and/or friendship . He accepted bribes but did not fulfill his part of the agreement. They fed him more and more until it was discovered he couldn’t stomach their generosity.
• Puggy was a frequent raider in next door’s garden stealing food put there for birds, including bones (who does that?!).
• Christmas raid on turkey carcass next door with stolen turkey wing and impersonating Mr Creosote as evidence
• Criminal activity of thievery and bribery resulted in internal bleeding  and astronomical vet bills (in itself criminal although Puggy, honouring some sort of criminal code, bit the vet, hard).

ASBO CONTRACT

This contract is made for Missy Pissy Pants (full show name)

I hearby agree to the following:

FURTHER Missy Pissy Pants hereby enters into a commitment not to act in a manner that causes or is likely to cause harassment, alarm or distress to one or more persons in public and agrees to the prohibition of her anti social behaviours

• I will not bite ankles
• I will not steal cat shit and eat it
• I will not vandalise The Ugly House Skirting boards or shit in Charlie’s bedroom
• I will not lose my shit so badly on walks when other dogs approach that I bit my Parents’ (plural) legs (plural), causing puncture wounds
• I will no longer wear a bright yellow ‘nervous’ vest in public. It is misleading. Whilst I am nervous, my passive aggressive behavours need to be identified more clearly. I will now wear a Twat Vest in bright neon.
• When I get excited I will not jump up and bite my mom’s bum. Whilst no harm is intended, I recognise it fucking hurts and I am in danger of biting off more than I can chew

PENALTIES

If Pissy Pants (Missy) does anything which she has agreed not to do under this contract which is considered to amount to anti-social behaviour, Missy will be put in her cage, muzzled with a tiny Chihuahua muzzle or deprived of carrot treats (whichever is appropriate). She will not however be shouted at as she is fucked up enough already.

In extreme situations she will be shot… with a loaded water pistol

DECLARATION I confirm that I understand the meaning of this contract and that the consequences of breach of the contract have been explained to me.

SIGNED _________________________ Youth [signature of individual]              DATE………………

SIGNED _________________________ Parent [signature of parent or guardian] DATE………………

This ASBO has yet to be signed by the defendant!

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Missy was 6 months old when she was evicted along with her 9 sibling-brother-mother-lover family from their council house den of inequity. Either there was some serious interbreeding going on or Missy is just plain unlucky that she looks like an old man gurning in a tyre. She sure as shit doesn’t look like a Chihuahua. She’s solid and muscly, more like a miniature pit bull. I should have known! On the plus side she matches the furniture! Puggy Matches the kitchen. It’s an important part of the selection process, that and them being in desperate need! If I ever rescue a Weimaraner Pointer it is going to have to live in the bedroom, thats grey!

I was told she was a puppy. I was thinking new shiny puppy without serious psychological baggage. I know I bang on about rescue dogs but there is something special about the smell of puppy breath and paws. I wanted a puppy but I would never buy one. In truth I didn’t want another dog at all, but I did want a puppy. Lots of people have this approach and dump their puppies when they morph into grown up dogs whose breath is literally to die from rather than to die for. Missy’s breath was already on the turn when we got her.

I was convinced by people who have fallen into the ‘glutton for punishment trap’ of adopting a pack of dogs that she would be company for Mr Pigglesworth and it would help him socialize.  I was once told that two children were better than one too. I should have known better.

At 6 months old Missy was not only beyond sweet puppy breath, she generally smelt like the rancid teenager she was. But it was too late. I’d seen her. My sister who came with me saw her brother (who we later found out was her dad and would have been the father of her children had we not rescued them). My sister adopted Bertie Big Balls and had them chopped off. I took Little Missy home.  

Her name extended to Little Missy Pissy Pants for good reason. It’s her show name if she was Crufts material. She had clearly never been handled and turned into a star fish whenever she was picked up. She was utterly terrified and shook perpetually. It was 3 days before Christmas. I picked her up the same day I picked up my Christmas present. A shiny black convertible. She shat in it. Once home, she would not go to the toilet and would hold it in for hours and hours. The second I took my eyes off her she would wee in some corner… or anywhere really. Her puppy toilet training in the chi farm clearly hadn’t been a positive process. She had learned, out of fear, to pee in secret and it was a hard habit to break. Christmas day was great fun. We never shouted and patience won the day but even now, on walks, when she wees she looks up at me pitifully and fearfully, showing me the whites of her eyes, like I am about to beat her. Too late I realized that she would not be socializing Pigget and he would have some unwanted influences on her.

Missy and Piggy seemed to get on ok. He was indifferent to her and she was indifferent to his indifference and followed him everywhere. It was all ok for a short while. As she was 6 months old I was advised to wait for her first season before getting Missy neutered. Poor Pugily! His indifference disappeared and was replaced by frantic fanaticism. Who knew that neutered boy dogs could still do the business! Missy behaved like a bitch on heat (insert laughing emoji here). My first panicked reaction when they got stuck together was to throw water on them. It didn’t work and as the children began to cry I googled what to do. It said “DO NOT THROW WATER ON THEM”! It said I needed to keep them calm. I talked to them gently and stroked their panicked little faces and when I had finished calming the children I did the same to the dogs (mainly puggy was panicked – he was trapped good and proper).  Eventually they relaxed sufficiently to separate.

I’m a tiny bit sad that the outcome of that trauma wasn’t little baby Puggy and Missy Puppies. They certainly would have had the better start in life than their parents!

Read on next time about Missy’s criminal activities

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This isn’t so much a part 2 as a PS.

In yesterday’s blog I gave Piggle a bad press. My intention wasn’t to have wanabee dog owners queuing up at puppy farms to get a brand new one. I may have, in the name of humour or impatience to finish the blog and eat breakfast, forgot to mention a few things about Puggle that is worth mentioning.

There is no doubt that Pigget bites out of fear. He is unusual in that (… actually he’s just unusual) he doesn’t allow the offer of a hand to sniff. He just goes into fight mode. That’s why pockets are a good idea for visiting strangers. There is no doubt that Pugget had a terrible time in his 4 or 5 years before we got him. He responded to the scraping of a plate because that was the only way he had been fed – scraps. He ate so quickly I thought he would choke. For months I would hold him and calm him as he eat. His claws were so long from never going for walks, the first time I took him on one he literally shat himself. He had stress alopecia. He hated old ladies with sticks (who doesn’t?). I’m sure it’s only a coincidence that his temporary foster home after Battersea had an old lady with a stick. He still flinches 5 years on if you do any kind of jerky hand movement (unless you’re a stranger then he thinks its fair game).

Taking on a rescue means you take on whatever demons their unknown past has given them and Piggy is seriously and pitifully haunted by his.

So why take on a fucked up psychotic rescue over a brand new shiny puppy? Because the rewards are priceless. He has never shown any aggression to the people he met the first day I took him home (except my mother aka old lady and stick): me; my children; my nieces and my sister. He knew he was safe with us from the second I engaged with him. Once he trusts you he does so utterly and completely and is the gentlest, most beautiful soul I have ever had the privilege to encounter. He is clever and intuitive. He is proud and handsome and trots along, in his little red ‘CAUTION’ vest on walks, like the Cock o’ the North (whatever that is!).

 Sure you get the rewards with any dog that loves you, but one that has placed their trust in you after everything they have encountered is a magical bond. It has extra sprinkles of smugness, knowing you made such a massive difference to one little life, and importantly, not fuelled the terrible puppy breeding madness of designer fashion item dogs. Puggy is a Boston Terrier/Chi cross and very desirable. He is also a small terrier with a big attitude. There’s a reason dog rescues are flooded with small dogs. They aren’t as pretty as they look. They are as much work as a big dog. You can’t leave them in your handbag when you get home. They would make such a mess of the lining. These designer dogs are a rebranding/marketing scam for dogs formally known as Mongrels! We should go back to calling them that and then there would be a lot less of them being bred, dumped and mistreated. For every reputable breeder there are hundreds of shitty low lives breeding dogs purely to make money. There are also plenty of equally shitty low lives prepared to pay cash to have a poorly bred and socialized dog to dump when they get bored or confront the reality of owning a poorly bred and antisocial dog.

Adopt don’t shop! Find a piglet of your own to cherish – Not for the feint hearted but it is worth it

Coming next … don’t get carried away with the whole adoption malarkey! One is ample!

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I have never been to Crufts! I will never go to Crufts! Pedigree dog breeding is the bane of my life. People breed dogs and they become fashionable. Dogs should never be fashion items (especially not Chihuahuas).  When fashionable, they become expensive. They become a source of quick money for unscrupulous breeders to sell to fickle buyers. Does no one remember the ‘A dog is for life, not just for Christmas’ campaign? Perhaps I remember it because I ended up with two of my little fuckers during the season of good will.

I thought it was a good idea to get a dog when we moved to the Ugly House. My first (first, ffs!!!) dog came from a small local Animal Rescue. It was at the person’s house and he came out with two dogs. I was given the choice of a blind poodle or a little Boston terrier/Chihuahua cross. The cross was seriously cute. No contest. He smelt really bad. The dog did too.

I took the little dog for a trial day, on condition that if he was mean to my cats, I could bring him back.  He was so pitiful and stinky and terrified of the cats that I never returned him that evening. I thought, with some love, he would come out of his shell. I hadn’t realized his true nature when I stood at the Primary school gates to pick up my son, watching little biddy kids stroke him. He was terrified at first. The more confident he got, he certainly came out of his shell! He truly revealed himself about 3 weeks later, at a market in Bridport, when he lunged at an old woman who stopped to stroke him, and bit her! We thought it was just my mother he hated, but it was all old women. He hasn’t stopped lunging since. Little Chihuahua muzzles are best sellers. It was at the Vet’s expense that he didn’t insist on the dog wearing one for his microchip.

There’s a reason fickle buyers dump their Chihuahuas. They are vile! Turns out the Animal Trust has a turn over of the vile little fuckers, unscrupulously ‘rescued’ from Battersea’s Death Row. Lifers! Biters! These biters are then coerced into not biting by whatever cruel means (I haven’t worked out any kind ones) you coerce mean little dogs and then ‘sold’ for a sizable charitable donation (cash of course) to stupid do-gooders like me. I’m not fickle. I wont give up on him. I had committed, unwittingly, to a lifetime with this quirky little boy.

We called him Pugily, because he was ugily (He isn’t but it amused me). Then it morphed into Piggy, puggy, Pugilet, Mr Pigglesworth… He responds to all or none at any given time. It’s a strange wonder he has never bitten me… other than my nose… which he bites out of pure affection.

When we have visitors, we have to ask that they allow him to have a sniff (luckily he is very small so he cant get too up close and personal) and that they do not look at him or talk to him. No eye contact! Some visitors think they are the dog whisperer and break the rules. He lunges! We have a water pistol on hand for stupid visitors and we shoot him with the water pistol. If this initial meeting goes well, he allows safe passage and ignores the visitors. He may even sit next to them. Some stupid visitors think this is a sign of acceptance and stoke him. We shoot him before he does too much damage. Sometimes, he will sit on a visitors lap. Some stupid visitors…. You get the idea. It takes about a year of the visitor visiting before we can put the gun back in the holster. He’s then a friend for life and a real sweetheart. If the rules are broken he never forgets. Some of my Son’s friends, when they were younger, thought it funny to tease him from the other side of the glass door. Five years on and he doesn’t even give them the sniff test. He just goes for their dangling hands or anything else dangling.

On the lead, he would go mental at any other dog regardless of their size. It was truly embarrassing to have to take a water pistol on walks and shoot the little fucker. We discovered, off the lead he was the opposite and would happily rollick with other dogs. It took about a year for him to settle, for his bald chest (from stress) to grow hair and for him to stop biting hubby (who to all intents and purposes is a weekend visitor!!!).  Our little family unit was calm and harmonious. I thought it was time Puggy had a friend!

… more on that later! How to ruin a Christmas… How to ruin a reasonably harmonious household

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A life less ordinary

I’ve decided to start blogging again. It isn’t because of popular demand, sadly. It isn’t because when I did blog, many people read them, sadly. It isn’t even because I have anything interesting or new to say…! When I wrote my American blog, America was the gift that kept on giving. Everything was so funny to me that the blogs were funny. I found myself hilarious. When I moved, it wasn’t fun any more and I thought that I had to be funny so I stopped writing. Recently I started writing again, every morning – as a cathartic purge really. I write three pages a day into a little notebook. According to my latest self help book it is supposed to aid creativity. It hasn’t. What I write is so bad, even I don’t read it.

My blogs used to pop into my head like a magical visitation. I would regurgitate them onto a page. They were effortless. I didn’t write them, I was just a conduit for the idea that presented itself to me, that day. This happened all the time. If I didn’t write it down, the idea would disperse and I would lose it. It was such a buzz.

The magical visitations stopped, I suspect, because I was closed. I was depressed. Living in Polar winter in Sweden after sunny Texas was depressing, Droitwich even more so! I have been pretty depressed ever since, and it’s been years. I miss my Texan times so much. I miss my life less ordinary. I have been waiting for the magic to return and to feel alive again ever since. It isn’t going to magically happen.

I have decided to start blogging again because I miss the buzz! If I show up to the page, maybe my visitations will start again. I switched from writing to textile art and have loved being practical and making art. I sit in my shed and create. Not just any shed! It’s The Posh Shed at the bottom of the garden. It’s my space, glorious, colourful and messy and I love it. It has kept me occupied for a couple of years and gets me out of the house (albeit only 30 meters away). Over the last month or so I have found it difficult to think of anything to make. I look from the kitchen to the shed and wonder what the fuck I am going to do in there. My artistic visions were never as powerful as my writing ones but I had them. They have stopped visiting me too. I have been deserted again and I’m lonely. The only thing that shows up with any regularity are the big fat pigeons that sit in the tree overhanging my shed and shit all over my roof and patio.

On Saturday I bumped into someone I used to work with, when I was a teacher. I was thrilled to see her. She could barely be arsed to say hello. I have berated myself for not returning to teaching when I returned from my ex-pat life. I am haunted by past lives and what could have been. I was reminded of this:

Truly, though our element is time,

We are not suited to the long perspectives

Open at each instant of our lives,

They link us to our losses: worse,

They show us what we have as it once was,

Blindingly undiminished, just as though

By acting differently, we could have kept it so.

How did Philip Larkin know I would need to read this and reflect on its wisdom. I cannot go back to my teaching career where I left off and nor do I want to. I cannot go back to Texas, and pick up where I left off. I cannot change the losses of the past. On reflection, I am glad the unpleasant encounter happened this weekend because it brought me to this page. I am in the very privileged position of being able to do what I like, every day. I can write, I can craft, I can make art. I have a life less ordinary (wtf is an ordinary life anyway?) and if I let go of the passed (not a mistaken homophone here but feel free to replace with Past – it works too) things I mourn I will be open to ideas and new possibilities. This first tentative return to the page isn’t going to gain any admiration for my capacity for writing nor is it split your sides funny (which I love most when the writing flows) but by publishing it, it is a massive step forward into the new day for me!

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I love doing felt portraits. I hate the agonising process though! I wet-felt the picture first. This involves using merino and Corriedale wool fibres (and sometimes other wool and silks) which are layered. A base layer of colour followed by laying out the picture. I love the point where the picture looks perfect and good enough to frame… Sadly it cannot be framed at this point as it is just loose fibres.

The fibres are wetted and soaped to loosen the scales on the fibres and then and rubbed and rolled (for a long time – great to exercise the bingo wings!) until the fibres mesh together to form felt. I hate the result. My perfect little felted portrait dog looks like a franken-doggy! All distorted and wonky. The fibres move… their eyes go wonky, the lovely definition of fur coats gets lost. It’s heart-breaking! I still prefer to do a wet felted base though compared to other wool portrait artists (who don’t becasue its a crazy thing to do- like doing a picture twice!) becasue I think it gives such a soft base to work from.

Then the perfectionist in me spends way too long (days!) needle-felting more wool fibres into the base to bring back the definition and add a little sparkle to the subject’s eyes! The fibre gives the picture beautiful texture and softness.

Missy is my own little rescue Chihuahua. I got her when she was six months old. She had never been handled and was terrified. She, and 9 other dogs needed to be re-homed when their ‘owner’ was evicted. Missy would have been used for breeding. She is still nervous and still terrified of other dogs but she is so full of character and mischief! I think her portrait shows this.

Rogue’s gallery!

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