Easter Sunday cockwombling.

I had an irritating PHD hanging around that I was determined to complete today. It's done but not my finest work. There was some swearing and a minor culinary disaster going on in the background but it's done.

Having inherited a chihuahua with knackered legs, my partner had cobbled together some steps from foam pads, allowing her to get onto the bed (don't judge me!). It was functional but ugly and would end up in pieces when kicked, so I decided to make a cover.

I had a small piece of crazy print from Africa that has great sentimental value and had some purple cotton left over from a previous project that would go well with it. I worked out how to get the best out of my scraps and roughly cut out the shapes.

I had a great plan that worked very well in my head. My plans never involve careful measuring or making a pattern but probably should. This turned out to be much more complicated than I thought and I abandoned the project last week. So today I decided to come back to it and forget the neatness of machine stitching in favour of hand stitching onto the now taped together pads that form the steps.

I pinned the pieces into place and got stitching. It may only be three steps but it turned out to be a lot of stitching and quite awkward to work on. There was some ripe language, if I,'m honest.

As I cracked on, he who constructed the steps set to prepping Sunday lunch. As he slid the roast spuds into the oven, he commented on the smell of coconut in the kitchen. It transpired that rather than getting the jar of duck fat (conveniently labelled with those very words) from the fridge, he helped himself to the moisturiser I'd made a couple of weeks back. Cue more swearing, followed by more peeling.

All's well that ends well - Polly is happy with her improved (possibly) steps and the second set of roasties is crisping up nicely without the benefit of shea butter.

In other moisturiser-related news, I made a lovely soup last week and it didn't taste of coconut at all.