I've joined a local sewing circle. We're meeting every Saturday morning in a low-ceilinged room. It's technically open to everyone but somehow only women have been drawn to it. The tutor is hugely enthusiastic and has bags of ideas. And fabric. The first half hour is spent touching fabrics and admiring different projects and getting ourselves properly inspired. We learn about repurposing a broken zipper (curl it up artfully, a couple of stitches and voila, a rosette brooch!) or turning two 50p charity shop scarves into a funky skirt. I take one of the hems and peer at it.
"Oh, please don't look at it too closely," the tutor says bashfully, "It's not actually that well made."
"It's tidier than anything I've managed so far," I say. Everyone in the circle manages straight lines. I can't even cut fabric in a straight line. At the first session we could pick our projects so I picked a lined stand-up bag for the bathroom shelf. I managed to bring it home in the 3 hours we allocated to it but it was a struggle, I never measured a single piece and used vague hand and finger lengths instead, struggled with blunt scissors, infrequent access to the 2 only sewing machines supplied, and my hems looked appalling. My textiles teacher back in Year 5 would have ripped me a new one.
But it's my first sewed piece in ages, planned and executed from scratch and I'm rather proud of it. Even OH's mum, who once knitted a christening shawl so finely laced that you could pull the whole thing through the wedding ring, thinks it's a good start.
For the second session, we've all been encouraged to work on a project of our own, and we all show off the three-pound Primark item we've brought in and decided we're comfortable sacrificing to mangled applique or ham-fisted hemming. Invariably, you get the course participant, usually middle-aged and with cut-glass vowels, who arrived an hour and a half late for the first session and then whinges at the tutor during the second session that she "didn't know we had to bring our own". Oh please. Get yourself organised, sister, or be quiet. My inner German is about to come out but I put her back in my sewing box.
Last time there were 2 sewing machines for 10 participants and that was not enough. We were told we could bring our own if we got them PAT-tested. That same night I bump into Neighbour P on the drive. P knows every tradesman in town.
"I need to get my sewing machine PAT-tested," I tell him. "You wouldn't happen to know someone who offers this service?"
"I do indeed!" P declares, "My mate does it. Leave it with me." P has broken his hand during a job and has had to take time off work. Unlike OH and me, who love not having anything to do, P hates forced inactivity. Before I know it, the box with my sewing machine is in P's van. Half an hour later, the doorbell rings. P is back with the sewing machine. It has a dinky little sticker on it.
"It's done."
"What? Already?"
"Yeah, he was in and it only takes a couple of seconds."
"Oh wow, fab! How much do I owe you?"
"Nuthin'."
"What?"
"Nuthin'."
"Don't be silly. Alright. Have some pear chocolate cake then." Thank God I'd made some the previous day. I give him the whole half of the cake. He's very pleased.
So that is why, at my second sewing session, I'm the only one with a PAT-tested electric sewing machine. I set myself up at a separate table next to the tea and coffee facilities and behind the asthmatic iron that doesn't ever get properly hot. My project involves turning a silk scarf into a piped hem. I couldn't have picked a more ambitious project: combining an ultrathin weave with a stretchy cotton knit -- yeah, girl, great idea! The colours look fab but my execution is amateur. I can't get the piping to line up and the fabric pulls out of line as I sew. The tutor occasionally drifts by, looks on, makes some encouraging noises, and then homes in on our star pupil, a young girl with great fashion sense and heaps of talent. She too likes to work on her own, quietly. In the room next door, there's animated chatter. Most have tried their hands on the dinky zipper rose brooches, probably because you can do this one sewing by hand and any other project would have been stymied for lack of sewing machines. I offer people the use of my Toyota but no-one takes me up on it. The tutor promises more sewing machines next time.
I always come away from these sessions invigorated and relaxed at the same time. I begin to understand why things don't quite work -- in my case, I'm using the wrong presser foot. I didn't even realise there were different ones! I've discovered Pinterest and a huge amount of projects. My fabric suitcase is bulging. Once I've finished my Primark silk-edged tank top, I'm going to start on a carryall for my sewing machine, which should be fairly straightforward. My personal holy grail of sewing is getting two bits of fabric to stay lined up and me managing to sew close to an edge. Next time!
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