My box of reels of cotton tells a story – each reel was bought for a specific job. The gold Gutermann that is nearly empty on top was used to sew about a million miles of gold crushed velvet into curtains, swags and drapes in my bedroom in my last home. When DM moved in with me, he didn’t like sleeping in the room I’d previously shared with my ex so I decorated another bedroom into a lush, colourful, shimmering space for me and my new love.

The navy blue is from a navy circle skirt with white polka dots that I loved. The turquoise from a super slick glazed cotton batwing top, the purple from a cute bag, the white from another of my best creations, a white rubber suit made out of the sort of rubber sheeting that’s put onto hospital beds! I’d like to think my suit looked a whole lot better than the fabric’s origins. I eventually had to bin it when I’d washed it and put it on the line on a hot summer day (oh that seems like a lifetime ago) and the rubber melted off the fabric backing! I know that might sound unbelievable but I swear it’s absolutely true.

The peach is one of the colours that was predominant in a gorgeous fitted, full-skirted number that I was wearing one night when I feel I really struck a blow for women everywhere. You know how it is girls? You get done up in your finery, go to a gig then find you’re the target for every drunken man who thinks that because you’re dolled up you’re fair game. I went to see my beloved Q-Tips at Hatfield Poly (I expect it’s now called a University). Myself, Shazbop and Clazuk were down the front dancing as always. There was a crowd of blokes behind us who were being really obnoxious. One of them was showing off to his mates and kept pulling up my skirt. Now I am strangely prudish about such things. I feel that my knickers are my own concern and that I will show them to who *I* want, not to someone who thinks they can “just take”.

I asked him to stop. I told him to stop. I screamed at him to stop. He seemed to think it was funny. I was so angry. After the band finished playing, I went to the bar, ordered a pint of orange squash, went over to the man we shall know as the tosser and made gooey eyes at him. I asked him if he remembered me. He said he did. You could tell he thought he’d scored. I said that I had particularly noticed him because he’d spent the last hour trying to humiliate me in front of his friends. I poured the orange squash over his head, asked him who was humiliated now and left. Of course the squash was the choice because it is sticky and extremely nasty, just like him in fact.

He messed with my threads so I messed with his threads. It serves him right.

I do so love it when I can weave a story out of brightly coloured threads now that I no longer use them to make beautiful clothes.