We've talked diaries before, when I confessed about the botched attempt to enter the modern era and use an electronic planner. It failed dismally and I hared back to my trusted XL Moleskine on the kitchen counter-top. It works for us, and I relish the time capsule element of storing away last year's diary on the bookshelves. Don't ask me why I feel the need to hang onto them, but I do.
There is something that feels very grown up about having settled on the perfect diary and continuing to purchase the same one year after year. A sort of solidity, having left behind the flibbertigibbet pleasures of a diary which provides a different picture each week or being seduced by something novel. It is the closest I am ever likely to come to being a woman with a capsule wardrobe.
But there is always that awkward moment towards the end of the year, when a household spans two diaries. I have learned that if one is not to forget important things in the first few weeks of January, that you need to procure the diary for the subsequent year before the current one ends. And when all one's diaries are identical and black, it is also useful to have a way of differentiating the two.
Which is an extremely long winded preamble to explain the reason behind this:
Courtesy of a tutorial here.
My execution is not without flaws. Story of my diary life, really - full of good intentions, the execution of which may or may not live up to expectations.
If you do it properly, the embroidery looks as if the heart has been knitted. Which might come in handy - you know, with the day of lurve looming. See, I know that, because I've got a diary. And I can even tell which one is from this year!