very cosy

It speaks for itself, really.

Although, what it actually says to each of you, I freely admit, will vary greatly from one to another.

This is the present, in all its glory, that I sent my mother for her birthday last month.  It made a safe landing in Australia this week and was met with what I can only imagine was hushed awe.  By both parents.  What Mum actually said in an email was, and I quote, "I must say you do make a very good pom pom."* 

And I do.  All 34-odd.

After such a lot of practice, I think I can now safely say that pom pom making does not top the list of my favourite craft activities.  No, I won't be adorning our home in pom pom garlands, as is the current fashion, anytime soon.


Now, you've got to admit that, generally speaking, the tea cosy is an inherently comical creature.  Yes, they are functional. Sure, they serve a handy purpose.  But in my vast experience of making them, it is best if this doesn't get in the road of some serious silliness.  It's got to be the shape - the roundness; the plump, comeliness of a wrapped teapot - that almost invites a sense of the ridiculous. Yet, some may consider the humble tea cosy (not to mention making tea in a pot) dumpy and old fashioned.  Phooey, I say.  As far as I'm aware, there is still no app for keeping your teapot warm, and for this we must be truly grateful.

The pattern, for those rushing to buy yarn and whip up some weekend pom poms, is called Party Girl and promised a quick, easy, satisfyingly ridiculous solution for a birthday present.  And it was. Satisfyingly ridiculous, that is.  It took me a year to make it, but that says more about my life and my commitment to craft at the moment than the ease or otherwise of the pattern. 

So, go.  Make pom poms.  And a tea cosy.  It's good for the soul, or at least for your sense of the ridiculous.


*Also code for Hushed Awe.