I watched an episode of Relocation, Relocation last night while suffering an attack of insomnia. The couple was selling their London flat to start a new life in Arrachor, near Glasgow, Scotland. The house they bought was terribly cute, with several outbuildings, one of which they planned to use for the husband’s ceramics workshop and another they intended to live in during the peak tourist season when they could rent out the main house for 1,000 pounds a week. Pretty romantic.
I guess it was kind of timely that I happened to be watching this program, because there were a lot of similarities between this couple and us. They were about our age, and, like us, their friends thought they were insane for buying where they did. They talked about what might happen if it didn’t work out, how they wouldn’t be able to return to the big city because they’d never be able to afford it after living in a much cheaper location. We’ve had that conversation. It’s a bit of a stretch to imagine you’re a kindred spirit with someone on television, but I was so touched when the woman said it didn’t bother her that she would never live in London again because it didn’t feel like her home anymore. What bothered her was saying goodbye to her friends. That is what bothers me more too.
I didn’t always live in Toronto. I had lots of friends before I came here and there is really only one I keep in touch with, if you can even call it that. You can’t because it’s our mothers who keep in touch and our mothers who give us up-to-date information about each other. I suppose though, that those old friendships were lost in the days before email was invented and too, it was absolute culture shock moving here from northern Ontario, so maybe things will work out better this go-around. I guess things are naturally somewhat different when you’re 30 as opposed to 15.
But anyway, let’s talk about something else before I start bawling or something, capiche?
You remember my couch? I think it’s time to bust out the sewing machine I received on my last birthday and make a slipcover for it. I was going to have it reupholstered but as it turns out I’m way too lazy to nail down the details to make that happen. And anyway, this is cheaper. But more likely to result in me harbouring homicidal feelings toward the sewing machine and/or whoever happens to be around.
Here we have Simplicity #5127, "Modern Slipcovers with Pillows" which looks nice and also difficult and frustrating. Did I mention I have not sewn anything in over ten years and I’m not quite sure know how to even wind the bobbin on my machine?
I’d also like to make these blinds (the ones on top) but in cuter fabrics. Hmm, I’m becoming exhausted just thinking about all this hard work. Maybe my mom will "help" me if I ask nicely? Oh right, I bet that the gift of the sewing machine is probably a good indicator of where my Mom stands on that point …