I've become a little bit obsessed with these tiny little wooden dolls lately. It's something about the very easy versatility of the wooden form - a few dots and a dash, there's a face, a lick of paint for a dress. It's also something about the little scraps of felt or lace or linen that it takes to make them undressable. Nothing is quite so frustrating as a glued-on hat to a child. But truthfully it's just the tinyness of it all. I'm rediscovering my lifelong love of the titchy tiny, a love I had largely shelved until I had children. Nina's thrill over (for example) the mini toothpaste you get given on airplanes, reminds me of my first visit to Southeast Asia and where I discovered pharmacies full of tiny products - mini shampoos and tiny packets of band aids and single cough drops for sale. I can't really explain why these things are appealing. I can't understand myself why I can spend hours sewing a tiny red linen cape lined in grey with a tiny buttonhole, when I often can't be bothered measuring things properly. Why do I like cutting out tiny autumn leaves, or making miniature cucumber sandwiches but hate making sure my lines are straight? One sort of attention to detail I am all over, the other totally not.