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Myths… busted

Look, if there is one thing you can expect from me it’s honesty (no, honestly) and the time has come for me to set straight a few records. What I mean is that every time I pick up a sewing magazine I am faced with images of (mostly) women who look anything from beatific or excited to joyous or swoony and all because they are engaged in our noble pursuit of attaching together several pieces of fabric with thread. And yeah, I love it. It’s like needle porn. I feel their joy. Thing is, it’s not always accurate. See, these glowing images have made the great British public believe that sewing is calming, nurturing, exciting, creative and spiritually awakening. Well I’m here to tell you that, some days, that is such a giant crock of shit that even my local sewerage plant has refused to deal with it. So here are a few sewing myths… busted.

People who sew are calm. Like frig they are. Believe me, there are days when my sewing shed contains more rage than a youth detention facility. That’s because the sewing machine might have snarled up, a needle been plunged into my finger, a button rolled under a cupboard, I’ve buggered up a slouch bag or I have to bomb about for the school run even though I’m halfway through an order with a sphincter-clenching deadline.

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Sewing rooms are an oasis. Whoa! Have you seen my sewing shed? Have you? I don’t know what it is supposed to be an oasis from but the list as sure as shit doesn’t include deadlines, hard graft, complex calculations, gabbled commissions, stabbed hands, fiddly patterns or the tedium of notching seams. It is, however, an oasis from civilised conversation, relaxation and decent coffee.

All sewers have chic homes. And yes, we do, if chic means knickers strewn over the bathroom floor, a worryingly cluttered porch and the entire contents of a six year old’s bedroom strewn, somehow, about the living room. Believe me, even if my home was chic enough to feature in a sewing mag you wouldn’t be able to see it for all the bloody loom bands.

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Women who sew fit work around kids. Hahahhhaaa! Yeah, that’s right. I never ever force my child to accompany me to yet another fabric shop, make her watch telly while I finish a slouch bag, get her to sort out my buttons while I wrestle with my sewing machine or ignore her homework until I’ve posted my last order of the day. What do you take me for? A businesswoman?

Crafters love Kirstie Allsop. No. Just no. If I wanted to be patronised by an over-indulged idiot woman who thinks darning her husband’s skip-found socks is the height of intersectional feminism I’d join the bloody Conservative Party.

So, that’s all clear then? Have I successfully busted them thar myths? Excellent!  So the next time you see the glossy image of a sewist think of me, sweating, swearing and generally melting down in my shed. I won’t look as pretty as the sewing mags but at least I’ll be living the dream.

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