Making a pig's ear out of a purse

A few weekends ago I attended a 'making a leather bag' workshop and indeed, I made a leather bag. It was actually a remarkably nice bit of leather but we did not get much guidance on design and the result was pretty horrible, especially the handles. So I took it home, bought some equipment on eBay and altered the handles and now it's still pretty horrible but the handles are more functional.

As I've mentioned previously, Dad was a saddler and while on the course I suddenly thought that he would have been proud of me. Of course, I immediately realised my error - he wouldn't have been proud at all and he would have taken much pleasure in pointing out how bad a job I had done. Hopefully I haven't completely inherited the miserable bastard gene, but I am beginning to wonder if I've inherited the pleasure in making stuff for a living rather than doing proper work. Unfortunately I quite clearly haven't inherited any ability.

Swift, silent, without trace

It's not something you'd notice when it was happening. After all it's nothing out of the ordinary, a cat on your lap, rubbing up against you. It's only several hours later that you realise, once again, that part of your clothing is missing, this time the tag on your sweater zip, silently swallowed, gone, if not forever, certainly to all intents and purposes in any usable form.

Little buggers. Just as well I don't tend to wear jewellery.

Well that was a total screw up

Not only did I not pick up any work at the conference I was at last week, I didn't score any free promotional pens either. Truly I am useless.