I made a rather rash purchase the other night. In my defence, I was minding my own business, sleeping, when at 3 a.m. my neighbour suddenly decided to play his Kings of Leon album really loudly. So loud he couldn't hear another neighbour pounding on his front door or me bashing the end of my broom against our adjoining wall. Which I don't recommend because I cracked two kitchen tiles in the process.

So I turned to some therapeutic blog-reading and random Google searches, the last for '5mm wool felt'. I've ended up on umpteen U.K. chiropody supplies sites looking for it before but this time, a lone Ebay listing caught my eye which, fatally, turned out to be a 'buy it now'. So I did.

When I told a friend (a longtime felt aficianado) on the phone that I'd bought a large bag of small felt discs, she asked how many. And burst out laughing at my reply. And continued to laugh when I tried to change the subject. And carried on laughing while her 18-month-old daughter joined in and laughed too. And then asked me to email her a photo of them.

Now I just have to work out what to do with the other 4,883.

Lured by its 'characteristic foul stench' of  'rotting meat, dung and rancid cheese', I once joined a very long queue to see this, a flower so rare it hadn't bloomed for generations. Which is about as often as my craftspace looks this tidy. Even now, if you peer into the Pjas basket, you'll see a motley assortment of things that have nothing to do with my creative pursuits. And let's not talk about the fact I have to jam my legs in amongst all the stuff under the desk just to sit down. Or mention the crammed cupboard in the hall, whose door hasn't closed properly for years.

No, let's maintain the illusion a minute longer.

At least it doesn't smell.

Happy New Year! Chinese New Year, that is. I mean, it's not like I've been procrastinating about starting this blog for two years and seven months or anything...