Something wonderful has happened in our new flat: I have a dedicated sewing area! It’s lovely to be able to leave my sewing machine out all the time and not have to worry too much about clearing my projects away because it’s dinner time and it would be nice if we could actually use the dining table for dinner occasionally, thank you very much.
As we’re a bit more settled, I’ve found time to work through some of the clothing repairs I’ve been putting off for months, and in some cases, years! This pile includes items I’ve bought at a discount because they needed repairing in the first place, but never dealt with – way to be frugal, Law!
Two hours work one rainy evening, and I now have a pair of work trousers without a hole in the bum, a pair of super flared Diesel jeans which are the right length, if a little hipster for my current taste, and a maxi dress with all straps attached (all nice and ready for next summer).
I’ve always disliked repairing clothes. I’m actually not that good at finishing anything I start, preferring to leave a trail of half arsed projects in my wake in all areas of my life. I’m flighty and easily distracted by the new and shiny. Also, my hand sewing is abysmal. However, I’m trying to take pleasure in everything I do, because otherwise, what’s the point really? It’s working fairly well; while not the neatest work in the world, all repairs were done by hand, and very enjoyable they were, too.