An old quilt, showing some signs of use

Because number-two son claimed the stripey quilt for his bed, he had to remove one of the ones already on there. Most beds in this house have a few quilts of different shapes, sizes and thicknesses. So do the sofas, and the cupboards. Actually most rooms look like a rag bag exploded in them. I say they should be happy I'm spending their inheritance on fabric and not gin and lottery tickets. They don't answer me back because they're muffled by layers of quilts.

The quilt that was removed (demoted really) was this one I made in 2000. Dodgy looking dress scraps (this was before I realised that quilting fabric was actually quite good for quilting) and hand quilted during the long winter nights I watched TV while my husband was Pretending to be Very Important at Parliament House and didn't get home till midnight. I didn't mind - this was before children so I worked all day - and the first winter back from Papua New Guinea so I had thin blood. The cats and I would watch Sex and the City and I would quilt.

This quilt definitely qualifies as well-loved. And my favourite bit of the whole thing? When I was basting it I realised I'd cut the back a bit small, and I couldn't be bothered sewing another bit on, so I just left it with the batting showing. And this quilt has been on the bed for ten years, machine washed and dried a couple of dozen times, vomited on at least twice and used as a floor rug for about six months. The lesson? Quality craftsmanship is not only overrated, but unnecessary.