One problem of having a twin who thinks exactly as you do is that it's difficult to buy presents for each other. One year I bought Mereth a fantastic book for Christmas, that I knew she would love. I couldn't resist gloating to her on the phone about how much she was going to enjoy her present from me. She assured me that I would love her gift more. This went on for a while, and we admitted to each other that both presents were books, then a horrid suspicion began to form. We both ran off and got our books, and I read out the first sentence, and they were the same book! So we saved on postage and wrapped them up and put them under our own Christmas tree. That has happened three times.

Just recently I saw a fantastic book on textile design on Fiona's blog, and promptly ordered it for myself on Amazon. When it arrived I rang Mereth and raved about it, saying she had to have her own copy. She was Furious with me! She had bought a second hand copy and it was waiting to be posted to me as a birthday present. Sheesh! Like I knew? So we each have our own copy, though hers is hard-cover and seeing she bought it for me as a present then maybe we could swap and she can have the soft-cover.... But that would be petty, wouldn't it?



I adore this book; there is so much inspiration in it for designs and quilts and colour schemes. I do love my reference library. I almost never read fiction any more, except for Harry Potter and Tolkien. I love autobiographies, history and resource books that get me thinking along new lines.

These birds would make lovely applique designs, and the colours are so rich and sumptuous. Things like this inspire me to look at my fabric stash with a new eye, and to combine colours in ways I wouldn't ordinarily do.

One of Mereth's interest is ornithology, and bird illustration. How many of you have kept a dead Avocet in your freezer while you made proportionally correct sketches over several days? I know I haven't! Last week I found a lovely book on bird illustration and I bought it for her, but I made a point of telling her so she won't buy it for herself before I can post it to her.

I have to go to the hairdresser soon, to get a cut and colour so I can look presentable at the Sydney quilt show next month. I have a dreadful time with hairsalons, as does Meggie. I have felt the depths of despair watching my hair being tarted around by well-meaning girls and boys, confident that they can be the ones to take control. But my hair is all passive resistance. Even as they stand back to survey their work it starts stubbornly curling back to wherever it wants to be. And that's not a good thing. "Have you tried 'product'?" one woman asked disbelievingly, unable to comprehend that my hair will not be controlled. But I don't have the time or lifestyle where I want to slather my head in 'product' and blowdry it into an edifice and then live in dread of rain or humidity. Not me.

My last haircut, before my FIL's funeral, left me looking like a Viking warrior in a horned helmet. The hairdresser, having cut it so badly, only charged me $5. Amazingly, the day of the funeral it looked fine, but has misbehaved and given me demonic horns almost every day since. And now it has almost grown long enough to lie down flat, and I have to go back and get it cut again.

So this is what I usually look like when I get out of the hairsalon, right down to that expression. Guess I'll go and eat worms.....

It's a Hoopoe, if you're interested.