In Susan’s recurring dream there was always a forest. There was birdsong and a sun that was almost too strong, and the whole of the forest floor glowed living blue. Bluebells! And she was always in the midst of them, twirling and twirling until she felt sick in a dress she didn’t yet own. A spun silk dress that bounced and swished, exactly the same colour as the bluebells. What could it all mean? It must be a sign, thought Susan. A sign to get the sewing machine out….
I love this graceful dress, but it’s not my size (boooo) so it’s now up in the store along with a few others.
Isn’t this almost the perfect colour blue? And, coincidentally, this is EXACTLY the same blue that I managed to die a fairly dirty-white piece of silk jersey fabric today. (That’s dirty-white in colour, if that makes sense. Not just, um, dirty and white. Because that would not be very nice AT ALL.) Unfortunately the rubber gloves I wore for the dyeing process must have leaked- my hands are now a fetching shade of what Dylon call “French Navy”. I have to wear gloves out in public- oh, the shame of having bluebell coloured hands!