After at least 14 dresses of the same style I’m resisting the urge to do the same with my latest Burda coat pattern. I wore coat number 1, made in fashion-victim leopard print. I wore it a lot. Everyday, in fact, for nigh on three mild weathered weeks in September/October. Suffice to say it’s a little whiffy now as I refused to take it off even in the warmest throes of our Indian summer (unseasonably sunny autumn…).
And now, hey presto! I have created another one. This time out of black corduroy with a suitably magician-like crimson lining.
I was all set to purchase bale of material number 3 when I put the sewing machine brakes on. ‘But I haven’t quite finished my abracadabra cloak-coat!’ I suddenly exclaimed. ‘I mean – it still has no buttonholes, not to mention the buttons…’
So I read and read and read the ‘how to sew buttonholes’ section of my sewing machine manual. Some hours later, after managing to change the foot, I gave it a go.
Argh! I gave (in my soul of course) the most blood-curdling of screams. I had to mentally hold myself back from hurling the machine on the floor and storming off.
‘Why me?’ I lamented, self-pity oozing from every orifice.
You may not understand this and, truth to tell, from a distance neither do I. I mean, who is that ridiculous woman? However, it was me. I was that person who wanted to run away and cry at the unfairness of it all. At how the gods had conspired against me, thwarted my best efforts, mocked me from on high, caused me to suffer such anguish. Don’t get me started on the slings and arrows…
Then I pulled myself together and admitted defeat.
‘Simon?…’
Oh the shame.
Ten minutes later ‘I’ had finished my coat – 3 buttonholes and all.
But it’s seriously wrong-footed my serial coat-making tendencies. I’ll not be getting back on that horse for a while.
Time to turn to my trusty knitting needles. A timely seasonal adjustment of activities which doesn’t involve machines …
