Tirrah, me luvs!

Toodle pip and what not, this is the Queen.

Hellew, hellew, that's the Royal Queen in the back, doing the Royal Wave.

We have just enjoyed ourselves immensely with the sewing peeps (I mustn't say plebs, so they tell me) at their dainty little shack, which is frightfully marvellous dreamy little place called Sewjourn.

(Hem, hem - whatever happened to simple names like Balmoral, wot? You could have a place called Sewmoral and then they wouldn't do all that silly business with the red wine and cackling over faintly off-colour jokes. Not morally lady-like, we can't help but feel).

Be it as it may, we are reliably informed that what happens at Balmoral - er, Sewjourn - stays at Sewjourn. I shall not pass judgement on the contents of the recycle bin at the end of the weekend

>crash, clank - sound of another gin bottle being chucked onto the pile< -- Whew, it's too exhausting being Queenie. Here's a quick picture show of the weekend's delights. The moral ones, that is. The mornings of looking at the view.
The days of sewing and talking, and the afternoons of messing about.

Bev and Serena: Hey, if we get a picture of our reflection in the window and the mirror ALL at the SAME time, that would be COOL!

Them: Didn't you say you were making tea?!? Come on, where are those hot steaming mugs of fuel for sewing superstars?

Us: ...oh yeah.

The evenings by the fire...

... my, my, I think the censors had to edit out some bal-morality problems with this image for the poor blogless Queen.

And finally, the product of a busy weekend:


And with borders on, resting on the sofa -- oh no, we have to pack up and GO!


What a great weekend, and a lovely, talented bunch of ladies.

Wonderful.