Every now and then I get quite smug about my fabric stash. For weeks, even whole months at a time, I labour under the delusion that I know what’s in the spare bedroom, and exactly what I’m going to do with each and every little bit of it when I eventually get round to it.
Then I go in there looking for Brown silk velvet. I find that brown silk velvet, becuase my stash if well ordered and the brown silk velvet is exactly where it ought to be.
Except for the part where the brown silk velvet is cuddled up with three metres of oyster coloured silk velvet. Not only do I not know what the oyster coloured velvet is for, I can’t remember buying it.
I stared hard at the oyster coloured silk velvet and it stared back at me, respledent and shiny and smug, and refused to give me even an inkling of what it wants to be when it grows up. It had the confident air of an accomplished freeloader who had taken up squatter’s rights in the spare bedroom
Can stash breed when you aren’t looking?
Not that I mind if it does, you understand, its more that I’m worried about how much wieght the floorboards can handle…