Oh Bluebell ... what's in a name ...

Now I have to 'fess up to feeling a tad proprietary about the bluebell. You see I was born at the end of April, when, as my mother still likes to tell me, the bluebells were in flower. And every year I have enjoyed my birthday with a side order of beautiful, fragrant bluebells. For me birthdays and bluebells have gone together like fish and chips or Fred and Ginger. As I've watched the bluebells sprout out of their winter hibernation, unfurl their long slender leaves and swell into bud I've felt the cycle of the year come around another turn, adding another year to my own personal tally in the process. In the old days I used to get quite excited. Do you remember how we used to lie to make ourselves older? Crazy times! Nowadays I'd really rather not dwell too much on all that cycle of the year mathematics, thanks all the same.

Bias Binding ... it would be wrong not to ...

It's so easy to make ... it would be wrong not to give it a go.

Everyone who sews has bits left over when they cut out their patterns, and everyone who sews can put some pretty bias binding to really good use. Think of all the things you could trim with a little injection of colour in a fabric that you love ... . If, like me you, enjoy clashing colours and patterns, then this bias binding gig is totally for you.

Jazz up the neckline of a plain white T-shirt, or the edging of a pillow. Use it in your dress-making to add interest to your creations. The possibilities are endless, and it's always an especial delight when you get to use something that might otherwise be thrown away.

The thing about bias binding is that it has to be cut at  45º to the selvedge of the fabric. Woven fabric has threads that run lengthwise, parallel to the selvedge, the warp threads, and threads that run across the fabric at right angles to the selvage, the weft threads. If you pull it lengthwise or widthwise it's pretty sturdy; the warp and the weft are woven to work against one another, holding each other in place, and it doesn't stretch very much. If, however, you pull it at a 45º angle to the selvedge, the warp and the weft scissor up and down, and it stretches beautifully, which makes it perfect for edging curves or corners, around which it can be mitred.

It's all about the Agapanthus ...

I have to confess to having a soft spot for a good Agapanthus.  I bought my first one over 20 years ago (yes, I am that old). At the time I was enjoying a hipster lifestyle in trendy Notting Hill. I had a little apartment on the top floor of an old town house, which had a huge roof terrace. And that roof terrace used to make my heart sing. I'd given it a country house feel by covering it with gravel and planting up some sturdy perennials in a mismatched assortment of enormous planters that I'd bought at auction. I had a bust of Mozart on a plinth, and a little wrought iron table and chairs out there. It faced away from the traffic, and I used to go out every morning with my first cup of coffee to enjoy the relative calm of my tiny oasis.

Makey Makey March ...

Happy April! I hope you got through April Fool's Day yesterday without falling for any pranks.

I've been looking back over everything that we've got up to in March. It's been a very makey makey month, packed full of baking, sewing, knitting and gardening. There's been the odd afternoon when I've managed to escape for some dog-walking, but it's been pretty full on with projects galore.

Some old pins and a broken necklace got recycled into a swanky set of stitch markers. Barcelona Bears were given smart tweed waistcoats for spring, my never ending spring stole complete with chains of hearts has got longer and longer - it seems to grow like Rapunzel's hair, and I've been sewing up a whole new wardrobe of spring dresses in the prettiest lawn cottons.

Do you ever wonder what to do with all those bits of fabric that get left over when you've finished making whatever it was you set out to make? They always call out to me, and, terrible hoarder that I am, I can never manage to throw them in the bin. This week I was working on a little gingham number. Someone told me gingham is very in this spring, which is lucky as I just happened to have some in my stash! I've got big gingham paired with smaller gingham in a nice, clashing sort of summer dress combo. I decided to not bother with the elaborate flappy facings that the pattern thought I should make. I'm not a big fan of facings; I much prefer to use some bias binding for finishing off.  I'd bought some bias binding for the job earlier, but when I looked at it ... well it just looked a bit work-a-day dull ... plain red binding ... snore ... zzzz.

So I got to thinking about how much nicer my (fairly plain) dress would look if I made some contrasting bias binding out of a lovely floral print that I'd got left over. To be honest it's the second round of left-overs for this particular print. I'd bought the material to make a dress, and then managed to s-q-u-e-e-z-e a sleeveless top out of what was left over from the first time around. So now, second time around, I've cut it on the bias at a 45º angle to the selvage and made the loveliest binding to finish off my neckline and armholes. It's not difficult to make. I cut mine at 2"/ 5 cm wide, so it was easy to turn in the sides with the iron to get it into the proper bias binding configuration without one of those binder-making gadgets.

It's been a real light-bulb moment for me, as I can now think of a hundred other things that would look so much better with some of my home-made binding. And the lovely cherry on the top of my cake is that it's costing me nothing - nada - not a centimo! Happy days!

Anyway, whatever you're up to, have a ball!

All the best for now,

Bonny x

The Snuff Mills of Morden Hall Park

Once upon a very long time ago snuff was all the rage. It started with the indigenous tribes of Brazil, and was carried back to the Old World by the Spanish, who established the first European snuff mill in Seville in the early 16th century.

The French ambassador, Jean Nicot, is credited with bringing snuff to the attention of his Queen, Catherine de Medici. Poor old Catherine had been plagued with headaches, which she was persuaded to treat with snuff. Miraculously it  seemed to work! And the grateful queen promptly declared that snuff should henceforth be known as Herba Regina, the Queen's Herb. Having won the royal seal of approval it quickly became popular with the French aristocracy.

From there the fashion for snuff soon jumped the Channel to take hold amongst the great and the good here in England. Soon snuffing was all the rage, with many extolling its excellent curative properties. It was sniffed into the nose, delivering an instant nicotine hit, and leaving a lingering smell. And back in the day, when the world tended not to smell too sweet, that scent in the nose would have been a welcome relief from the everyday malodors that otherwise assaulted the senses. Often snuff was blended to secret recipes with other spices, herbs and floral essences. Famous blends such as Scotch and Welsh, English Rose (supplied free of charge to MPs in the House of Commons after smoking was forbidden in the Chamber in 1693) and Lundy Foot gained popularity. Before long there was a huge selection of blends delivering different scent sensations to appeal to just about every olfactory caprice; some were dry having been roasted and then ground very fine whilst others were more moist.

The Snuff Mill, Morden Hall Park, London

George III's Queen Consort, Charlotte, was known as Snuffy Charolotte, thanks to her devotion to the stuff. She had a whole room at Windsor Castle devoted to her stash of snuff and her collection of snuff paraphernalia. George IV had his own exclusive blends.  Lord Nelson, the Iron Duke (of Wellington), Alexander Pope, Benjamin Disraeli and Samuel Johnson were all keen snuffers. With the growth of 18th century coffee house culture, the nation's enthusiasm for snuff grew in tandem with its addiction to caffeine fad to become a firm fixture in the daily lives of the chattering classes.