I’ve been beavering away making moggies for what seems like ages now.

I have a batch ready to go to a shop, and a new batch ready to stuff.

I am still really enjoying making them.

Although, as with most things I enjoy doing, I feel sort of guilty about it. I have the constant feeling that I should really be doing something else.

My living room has become a mog factory.

The back part of our knocked-through sitting room is always piled high with fabrics anyway, and my sewing machine and other paraphernalia lives permanently on the table.

But added to that I now have the ironing board out almost constantly, and piles of mogs at various stages of construction dotted about the place.

And no, what with the unbecoming grey autumnal light and unphotogenic wreckage and disarray, I haven’t taken any pictures of the room, I’m afraid.

Alas, I am not one of those tidy people that has an organised sewing room. You know – the sort that looks like it is never used. No sir. Not me.

But I do have a partner and son who are oblivious to mess.

Which is usually unlucky for me, but at the moment is something of a blessing. ♥