Can this dress take you all the way to a Hollywood boulevard…?
It’s another V8555! This time with the full skirt. The E-model. And it’s another yellow dress. It may be Saturday but it’s Sefton Park Road’s street party and that calls for a sunny summer frock. With red cherry pattern.
Not quite your Hollywood Boulevard look (but then again, lovely though it is, Sefton Park Road isn’t quite Hollywood Boulevard),the V8555 E has a full, swishy skirt that is cool on the legs in the heat so that you can parade around in it without swathes of material clinging to you. Never a good look. Talking of which…
Only weather as blisteringly hot as we are currently experiencing could induce me to flash any cleavage. This has been a drawback (hate to admit it) of the V8555 for me as I have to yank my dress up at the front every so often. As you can see from this shot, it doesn’t always work…
After having splurged my hard-earned pennies on the Amy Butler fabric I returned to my first discount love, the unimaginatively named ‘Fabricland’. You can see why as this material cost £3.60 a metre (or thereabouts) and the yellow lining just over a pound. Along with the thread and the zip the materials for this dress cost a princely £15. Unaccustomed to paying so much in Fabricland for the materials to make one dress I nearly said, when presented with the total, that I didn’t want the material after all. Also, the thought ran through my mind of the appropriateness of the fabric design. I mean, how often does a female over the age of twelve get the chance to wear a big-sun yellow dress covered in pretty red cherries? Ironically that did it for me and I haven’t regretted my decision. Thankfully this dress has been a sunny and fruity delight (wasn’t that some addictive drink popular a few years back? Very bad for children?) And great in the very surprisingly sunny weather. I think I’ll be wearing it until it falls apart ( and considering the state of my machine that could be very soon…)
Perhaps the weather is getting a little too hot…
red dress with yellow cherries…
Perhaps this is what happens to the Sunny Dress when you’ve had too much of it…
Oh, and I nearly forgot to reveal the identity of the person who said ”…this ladder can take you all the way to Heaven”. As the answer is (Ta da!) Holly Johnson from ‘Frankie Goes to Hollywood’ I’m guessing that ‘Heaven’ is a reference to the famous gay club in London back in the 80’s. As for the ladder, let’s not go there… But it just goes to show that you can find meaning in the most unlikely of places and elicit wisdom out of the most inauspicious (?) of mouths.
I’ve made the frock but I’ve been so busy – showing frock to mother, off to see friends for Frock Friday cocktails , sitting in sun with sons – that I’ve had no time to upload frock. Until now –
Just 2 metres of Amy Butler fabric(from John Lewis), approximate cost £14, makes a whole bright yellow dress! Incredible. And who would have thought that yellow would suit me so much when six months ago I felt sure that it did not. Yellow. Just goes to show that the power of subliminal advertising runs deep. It’s not the first time that I’ve said ‘I’m never going to wear THAT!’ only to find myself rushing off to the sales several months later with the express intention of getting hold of the very THAT that I had so vociferously expressed my undying loathing of those months before.
As for my trusty pattern, I have been adjusting it and making the dress much longer than the suggested length… Perhaps it’s a little too long… Still, it can’t look too bad as my mother (every woman’s worst style critic) goose-stepped me up to John Lewis’ material department this morning and insisted on buying not one but two lots of dress fabric so that I can make her dresses in the same style. I agree – I’ll make her the frocks. But she had better not think I’m making her any cocktails!
Only joking mum!
But what was the significance of ‘ladder’ and ‘heaven’? And who said it? Hmm. I’ve had too many FF cocktails to explain or be bothered to tell you where I got the quotation from. Perhaps next week…(Don’t get too excited. The answer is very disappointing.) But before I go I want to write a bit for my youngest son who is feeling homesick at the moment, away in Berlin, after having spent a week in relative seclusion in a villa set in Spanish countryside with 30 other students (WHO would rent out such a villa to 30 18 year olds ? I mean, it’s a whole classful of kids but without the teacher… )
My darling Harry, I hope you enjoyed the Soviet airport (no, I’m not joking! He really did go there!) . I’m finishing the jumper I’ve been knitting for you for the past 3 years…and (wait for the uplifting platitude to be read while singing ‘This opportunity comes only once in a life time’ for maximum Eminem pumped-upness ) try to embrace each and every opportunity you get.
Also, just to cure you of any lingering pangs of homesickness you may still be harbouring, just imagine the following scenario –
Dad and I are sitting in our full Royle-family glory, slouched in front of the TV, have been for hours, dad with a bottle of beer and me with a glass of white wine ( sorry about middle-class trappings but don’t be fooled into thinking there’s a huge difference between me and Barbara, because there’s not…) .
Then, just when you think that existence at home can’t get any more mind-numbingly mundane a James Bond film comes on. Too tired to move or even exercise finger on remote I start to sing along to the theme tune – ‘Never Say Never Again’. ‘Sean Connery’s my favourite James Bond’, I say, ‘What do you think Simon?’ You’ll not be too surprised to read that Simon does not share his thoughts on this most divisive of subjects, presumably because he prefers Pierce Brosnan and wants to avoid an argument. However, Harry, it is to my next question that I draw your attention as I then pipe up, ‘Which film is this?’
…And with that, my angel, I hope to have cured you of your homesickness. Have a great time in Berlin. Bis bald ( a little bit of German for you), mum xx
As I spread the word about my favourite dress pattern
feast your eyes
imagine my consternation when I was told today that it is no longer featured in the Vogue book of patterns. Big mistake. Big, big mistake.
However, even worse news for me as I have gone round hither and thither offering it out and now that fellow sewers cannot buy their own copy I may have to put my money where my mouth is and actually lend it out.
But I can’t.
I mean, what am I going to make without it ?
I already have 3 lots of fabric recently bought in the sale at John Lewis with the V8555 written all over them.
Fabric one is a Rowan fabric, price £6.75 a metre –
baby diarrhoea yellow
reserve judgement…it just takes a little bit of vision
and fabrics two and three (also priced at £6.75) are by Amy Butler –
very yellow – apparently the colour of the summer…
very bold – could be too young for me. Again.
Perhaps what I need now is to find out the best place from which to buy pattern paper – or is that illegal? Imagine the headlines ‘Middle-aged woman gets 6 months for tracing dress pattern’. ‘Frock Fraud’ . Oops, hope not.
So you see, I couldn’t possibly copy it. Or lend it out. That surely must be a crime too.
As a last resort I have even resorted to making most of friends’ dresses myself. Take, for example, my dressmaking protegee Dotty. She cut the pattern out under my watchful, nurturing eye, then I whipped it off her and insisted I ‘show’ her how to assemble the pieces. Within two hours we had it finished and on.
Dotty in the Minnie Dress
Dotty claimed that she was unable to use the pedal to finish her dress due to a broken foot… She looks stunning. But she’s still not getting the pattern. Yet!
Excuse the unintended euphemism. No, the title of this post is more to do with the quality of my seamstressship ( 3 s’s…?!). No, let’s re-write that – ‘seamstress-ship’. Hm. In fact let’s completely re-write that – let’s say ‘quality of my sewing’. I have for weeks, to those unfortunate enough to be around me, gone on about the substandard nature of my sewing machine. Inherited from my father who had given it to my mother who had given it straight back to him, no doubt in horror, I have used the 40+ year old Brother machine to indulge my new-found passion and I fear that it has been holding me back.
Indeed, to say it has served me well would be a lie – it’s slow, limited and … slack. I accept that the tension should be something that I could remedy myself. Add to that my mother-in-law’s criticism of my knitting as ‘slack’ which forever haunts me ( ‘ a problem there is no cure for’. Apparently…) and you can see why I also fear that the ‘needs improvement’ grading for my sewing might be my fault. Not the machine’s.
Despite my protestations and taunts of ‘Stupid machine’ I can sense that the menfolk in my house think that it’s me.
And Thursday night was no different. The machine was playing up. Really playing up and I was threatening to replace it. Then, as I was nearing the completion of a pink gingham frock (ready for Friday), just one side of the zip to sew into place, I saw a light. Not ‘the’ light , you understand, that’s for my other Blog, but ‘a‘ light.
I took my foot off the metal pedal ( can you see where I’m going with this yet?) , looked around and could see nothing. Odd. I put my foot down again, hands in position to feed the zip and fabric through. My head was down, willing the machine not to fail me now. Instantly I caught a lightning flash from the corner of my eye.
I stopped again. This time I could smell burning. I looked around. No extra light to be seen. Hmm. I felt sure that it was the ‘stupid machine’ but as I couldn’t actually see the problem I decided to press on ahead. I’d nearly finished after all. I bent over to rub my bare foot ( got it yet?) . At least alert to a possible problem at this point, when my foot pushed on the pedal I looked down and saw what I initially thought were flames coming from beneath the floorboards. Yes, flaming floorboards. Thankfully my instincts are sharper than my brain and I swiftly removed my bare foot from the metal pedal. The now overpowering smell of burning compelled me to unplug the sewing machine and put some slippers on.
But as I looked down at my nearly sewn in zip I contemplated, albeit fleetingly, wrapping a towel around the metal pedal and carrying on valiantly. Gloriously. Stupidly. I picked up the metal pedal and sniffed it. Hopefully. But it was ‘dead’. I told myself that I would never have done anything so foolish as to forge ahead. Ha, ha, ha. Flaming floorboards…
I placed the metal pedal on the table laying it out gently as if it were a dead bird that I hoped to resuscitate. Half-understood stories of phoenixes, flames and ashes invaded my mind. ‘I didn’t mean it,’ I said, ‘I didn’t really want to buy a new machine.’
Still, I had to finish the dress for the following day. I hunted down a sewing needle, threaded it ( after 3 minutes of trying, nearly sick with the concentration of focusing to see the eye. Bizarrely no time to find my glasses…) and spent the next hour sewing in the rest of the zip by hand. Very badly.
My Flaming Floorboards Dress
Again. And again. And again…
After a brief dalliance with a pattern I’d seen made up on the Dolly Clackett blog ( called the ‘Cambie’ by Sewaholics)
I soon returned to my true love. My Vogue options pattern. As for Dolly’s favoured pattern ( and it is true, she looks fab in the style), it didn’t do much for me.
Other than make me look like some simple ageing woman who hankers for her youth ( oh! perhaps that is me…) and still wears white knee-length socks (phew! No that isn’t me!), the style makes the wearer look short ( as I’ve already made crystal clear short I am not) and top heavy. Which, perhaps, I am.
|See what I mean…|
When you’re pushing 50 (and the rest) top-heavy-short is not a flattering look. Dolly looks wonderful ( so wonderful that I was compelled to track down the pattern of the dresses she wears on her blog). However, I did not look as wonderful as her.
So for me the Vogue Options pattern is a dream. It has sufficient challenge (darts, lining, zip for heaven’s sake!) yet seems to fit like a dream. The style is flattering (well, at least it suits me more than the Cambie), and, now that I remember to put a split in the back of it I can even move unimpeded. What more could I ask for?
Bye bye Cambie!
It’s only just begun…
Sewing! Bee? Bug? Whatever…I’ve certainly been stung by it. For me it’s all part of the ‘il faut cultiver votre jardin’ experience. Voltaire would no doubt be spinning in his grave to see his words so stretched to encompass an ageing women making ill-fitting dresses. However, all ‘Candide’ purists had better get used to it as this Blog is all about cultivating that garden and sewing is just the start. And as for ‘Frock Friday’! It is my intention to make and wear a new dress every Friday. Watch this space…
When I was a young girl I would make dresses without patterns. Thread would dangle, hems would be ‘interesting’ and for every attempt that I dared to wear two more would end up in my ‘to turn into a patchwork quilt’ pile. I was poor. And mean. Now I am not so poor but still unfortunately mean ( a trait against which I forever rail with limited success) but I have persuaded myself to invest in a …pattern. And I nearly choked when the shop assistant at John Lewis told me how much it was. But now I have it. V8789 – a vintage vogue pattern from 1957 with drawings of wasp-waisted women with frou-frou skirts.
Here is my first attempt! In a large floral print. And so was born ‘Frock Friday’ –
Material from John Lewis (about £14 a metre). Cardigan from M & S.
The lack of waspy waist hasn’t escaped me… However, pleased with my first attempt I’ve decided to make another one…Again, ready for ‘Frock Friday’!
This time the material was really cheap (£2.99 a metre, Calico, Bristol) and I’ve even knitted a matching cardigan. Loved this so, yes, I’ve decided to make another one…again for ‘Frock Friday’.
Material £2.99 a metre again (Calico, Bristol). Oh! And I had better make just one more…Again for ‘Frock Friday’.
I love these dresses and am delighted that I’ve managed to make them and (miracle of miracles) wear them . But after 4 dresses in the same style it looks like it might be time to change the pattern, Wave goodbye dresses…
But what is ‘Frock Friday’?
‘tu m’as donné ta boue et j’en ai fait de l’or’ ( or something like that – Baudelaire)
Oh, and I was forgetting to explain ‘Frock Friday’. ‘Frock Friday’ initially started as a day (Friday, of course. We had thought of Tranny Tuesday but that didn’t seem quite right) when I, along with some friends, thought that it might be a good idea to have a bit of fun and dress up. In a dress. The older we have got the more transvestite-like we have felt (hence T T). I think it’s the need to slap on more make-up (or that could just be me. Sorry girls!), wear higher heels (I, for one, have worn flats for most of my life apart from a brief spell when I was 12 to 14 when my mother still chose my footwear…) and choose brighter colours. All in an attempt to fight that invisible woman feeling that has slowly crept over us since the age of 40.
So, alright, all these things might simply refer to me but nevertheless the others were more than keen for an excuse to frock it up.
Our first ‘Frock Friday’ took place at a vintage-styled tearoom called ‘Cox and Baloney’ in Bristol. It was a perfect venue for our first sortie – Tom Jones on the record player (yes, you read it correctly, on the ‘record player’ or perhaps it is Tom Jones at whom you baulk…surely not ), Mr Darcy tea in the bone china tea pot, mis-matched but ever-so delicate porcelain teacups. With saucers. Old-rose patterns clashing everywhere and a boy ( young man) dressed in a white dress. (He wasn’t with us.)
Just when I thought our first Frock Friday couldn’t get any better the last one of our group arrived. Mid-blue sleeveless dress with large old-penny polka dots ( can polka dots be large?) , cerise wedges, matching cerise fabric bag covered in cerise fabric flowers (it was the bag that Dotty had tried to give to me the day before but which, I now see, I had too hastily refused on the grounds that I had – erroneously – judged it to be over-the-top and , quite frankly, a tad vulgar…), a large cerise fabric flower in her hair. And, to take the look to its highest point she had applied … matt, cerise lipstick. And if all that was not enough to make us feel even more inadequate Flossie smiled and said, ‘I made it. The frock. I made it.’
My sage green frock with its old-rose design suddenly seemed understated. Very understated. Barely visible. Even dowdy. Oh no, I must be nearly 50!
So now ‘Frock Friday’ isn’t just about wearing a frock, it’s about making one. One that’s loud and bold, intended to make it impossible for any woman not to be seen (excuse the brain-scrambling double negative). And to give ourselves a laugh! And next time Dotty tries to give me a boue-bag ( cruddy and muddy) I will endeavour to turn it into something wonderful. As dazzling as gold. And, of course, I will make a dress to match it…
It must be ‘Frock Friday’!
Yes, ‘Frock Friday’ is here again and I am off to Cox and Baloney’s later on for a delicious cup of Mr Darcy. Hmm. That sounds so wrong…So very, very wrong…
But what shall I wear?
I have a confession to make at this stage. I have not managed to make a dress. Instead I have made a top, lured by the ‘Easy’, ‘Make in 2 Hours’ promise on the pattern sleeve.
Well, to make one dress a week is a tall order. For me. I’m going to wear what I, and probably only I, see as my Vintage Rock Chick look.
I love the square neck on this. I only needed 1 metre of this strawberry flower material which cost £3.50 a metre from that most ugly of all fabric shops – Fabricland.
Oh, and this is Fifi, a friend’s dressmaker’s mannequin. She models many of my creations. She may be blue but she’s perfectly proportioned and, better still, you can’t pin an age on her.
Wish me fun! Let’s hope the seams don’t fall apart (not such an outlandish prospect when you see my sewing machine – but that treat can wait for now as I have a date with a cup of tea).
As Brown is the new Black so Top is the new Frock…
But before I go any further there’s something you need to know about me. When I do something, make anything, I like to do it again. And again. And again. Okay, perhaps that puts me somewhere on the obsessive compulsive disorder spectrum (or perhaps that’s more my habit of not touching handles in toilets with the skin of my hands or any other part of my body. I prefer to use tissue to come between me and the flush, door handle, door … and then I quickly throw open the bin and drop it in. Before I have to touch it! Of course. Too much information?), but (back to the sewing), I like to feel I’ve completely mastered, in this case, a top pattern.
As ever Fifi looks great in them. Here she is ( that really freaks my boys out when I call the dressmaker’s model ‘she’. Something creepy about giving a gender to an inanimate object…).
I love the square neck and you will see that I do not deviate from my first top design (although I have gone off-piste with the actual pattern…). I’ve added side vents and, to avoid inserting a zip at the back, I’ve simply replaced it with a button and loop. Much easier.
Then I made another one…
This time choosing a deep red material with an old rose design.
It’s interesting to see how buxom the flat-chested Fifi looks with a belt. Hm. I’d better be careful myself as I am indeed much more amply proportioned than the perfect Fifi and so I would no doubt look as though I were sporting a huge and voluminous squidgy shelf upon which to rest my cups of tea. Darcy or no Mr Darcy that is not the look for me.
But wait. I’m racing ahead. Not wanting to slave over the Vogue vintage pattern that I had started with I could suddenly see that I could get the same volume of fabric and so fullness of skirt (well nearly the same) by just attaching 2 metres of fabric to my very easy top!
Can you see what I’ve done?
So it might not be the most sophisticated of looks and without the belt it would most certainly turn into a sack (even on Fifi). And yes, it looks a little long, but it does attract lots of positive comments. Perhaps they could be the sort of comments people feel compelled to make because they can’t quite believe the monstrous nature of what they see before them. Perhaps. But I like to believe that it doesn’t look too frightful.
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery
So it is only me who is imitating me but it’s good to like what one wears oneself. Isn’t it?
Yes, I’ve decided to make another one. This time in black –
So it’s not the LBD. And it does look a little long for Fifi but she is quite short. I, on the other hand, am reasonably tall.
Possibly a little on the witch-y side but I do like this black, sack-like dress.
Not least because it only cost £10 to make. Fabric approximately £2.50 a metre, again from the incredibly cheap Fabricland.
However, I think I need to have a break now from this particular style. It does look a little long…
A Change is as Good as a Rest
Bored with tops and sacks and reluctant to return to my Vintage Vogue I have been persuaded to invest in a new pattern. This time a Vogue Options model.
New Dressmakers beware – when you look for a pattern most of the images look either dated or truly tasteless (really! They make Fifi look positively wonderful. Style, Simplicity, Vogue I do believe that you need me and Fifi to promote your ranges).
Consequently it took me many hours and abandoned trips to John Lewis perusing the same pattern books before I found something that I wanted to make. And I really wanted to make something. I finally decided on this –
While in John Lewis I also bought some material. Considerably more expensive than either Calico or Fabricland I plumped for material in John Lewis because I needed only 2 metres to make the dress. Not a bank-breaking amount. I also happened to like the material design.
The first piece of material was cerise pink batik. Just about £8 a metre. Thin ( the correct term might even be ‘lightweight’), but fine for the summer. I had a few challenges as this pattern had …lining. It also had an 18 inch zip. As my deluxe sewing machine (irony really intended) does not have a zip foot (or if it does, I certainly do not know how to use it), this part of the dress promised to be particularly challenging uncharted terrain. I also made the dress longer than the longest length of the pattern.
I must be ever so tall…
Mind like a Sewer
Pleased with the shape, which, although fitted I found flattering, I decided in true Issie Morg fashion to forge ahead and make a couple more. It made me look slim and shapely (for me. It is all relative after all…) and so I would have been foolish not to continue the miracle that is a good pattern. Finding some Amy Butler fabric reduced in John Lewis (about £6 – 7 a metre) I glued myself to the kitchen table, pinning, cutting, ironing and sewing. For hours. And hours. And then some more hours. Here are the end results –
Attention to fellow ‘can’t-wait-to-wear’ sewers such as myself. Just make sure that you’ve finished what you’ve made. Truly finished it. As usual I thought that I looked stunning in this green, very patterned creation which I put on as soon as I finished the hem. Cutting no loose threads I went out, loose thread embellishment a seemingly necessary extra, waving joyfully in the summer breeze. It was as I walked (or rather tried to walk) up the metal staircase of the Mud Dock Café, a very pleasant place with an outside terrace overlooking the docks in Bristol, that I realised that I hadn’t added my own little finishing touch to the dress.
After having lengthened the first dress, I had inadvertently created a Japanese creation which had the effect of causing me to move from the knee (not the hip) and so shuffle, making tiny Geisha-like footsteps. I easily remedied this by adding a split in the centre-back seam. Instant freedom.
I had forgotten this.
It was only as I attempted to walk up the steps, moving from the knee and going up on my toes for maximum movement that I remembered. Fearful of tearing my lovely new dress at the seams I yanked it up and strode into the cafe, looking very much what indeed I was – a middle-aged woman who was wearing a dress that she hadn’t managed to finish.
Surely next time I would remember to leave a split at the back. And I might even be bothered to trim the dangling thread…
I remembered to make this dress with a split in the back.
The dress is in Amy Butler material from John Lewis about £6 a metre in sale. A decent weight fabric that was lovely to work with.