I am spending my week of leave spring-cleaning. I did the wardrobe yesterday. I am always surprised to find things that I didn't throw out last time. One thing that went this time was my overcoat. It was a beautiful coat: a wool-cashmere blend, floor-length, soft grey in colour. I bought it from Stephen's, the City by the Sea's former department store. In fact, I bought it at Stephen's closing down sale, marked down from $435 to $90, nearly twenty years ago. I know the price, because it still had the tags on it. That's right: I have not worn the coat once in all that time. What I forgot, in my youthful excitement at seeing that bargain, was that City by the Sea is situated in a Mediterranean climate (Wikipedia tells me it is on the same latitude as Palermo, Sicily), with not many days that lend themselves to dressing like an extra out of Elton John's Nikita video clip. Not any days, in fact. Also, I am not very tall, and the coat is quite long. It looked like a dressing gown on me.
I also threw out the coat I was probably wearing when I bought the overcoat. Also a wool-cashmere blend, but hip-length, and black with a bold white check pattern. I tried it on and it was like wrapping myself in a big bowl of soup. It was lovely. I was tempted to keep it, and start wearing it again next winter. Coats are timeless, aren't they? No. Well, coats may be timeless, but shoulder pads aren't. In the mirror, I looked like I was just popping out to say hi to Melanie Griffith in
Working Girl. I am surprised I could get through any doorways without turning sideways. So it has gone with the overcoat to the op shop, where, one hopes, they will find new, probably retro-loving, owners.
Today I tackled the craft cupboard. Why do I have so many balls of self-striping sock wool, f-list? And one skein of grey wool pre-hung with sequins. What was I planning to do with that? And four balls of luridly coloured cotton. 'What were they for?' asked my mother, who had come to visit. I remembered that, at least: I was going to knit dishcloths. 'That's a bit mad,' she said. 'Buy them like a normal person.' Happily, I was spared a lecture on what normal people do their dishes with, because something distracted her. 'Is that the swimming bag I made for you in primary school?'
Yes, that's what it was, tucked away at the back of the cupboard. It was a good swimming bag. She wasn't content with making a simple little drawstring swimming bags such as the other kids had, no. This one is shaped like a proper handbag, in a bright tropical flower print. You could carry it down the street today and get nothing but admiring glances. And I may do just that, as the bag has now been washed and revitalised. But what was in the bag when we pulled it out of the cupboard?
It was a cardigan I was knitting for myself. 'That's right,' I said. 'I never got round to finishing that.' I pulled the pieces out. The fronts had been sewn to the back. Do you know the only part I hadn't got round to finishing? Sewing in the sleeves. So close. What a cardigan it would have been, though. The pattern was still with it: I had pulled it out of a magazine dated 13/06/1992. It was cream. The front and back were solid, and quite short, with a tight waistband opening up to a sort of baggy blouson in the body. And the sleeves? Lacy crochet. It was the most nineties garment ever conceived. I was probably going to wear it with a black velvet choker.
They're all gone now. My mother took them round to her friend, Val, who runs a weekly craft session for the Anglican Ladies' Auxiliary. She called later. 'I told Val they could rip the cardigan out and use the wool,' she said, 'but Val said no, she'd sew the sleeves in and see if she can sell it at their fete.' So now I'm tempted to go and see what it sells for.
Incidentally, the reason my mother was visiting today was so that I could help her cut out pieces for a laptop bag she is going to make for me at her annual quilt camp this weekend. She's my bespoke bag maker. We had to go and get some supplies for this new bag today. Spotlight (a craft chain) had a big display of Christmas crafts you could make, including
this pattern. I don't know if you can see it clearly, but the expression on the man in the elf costume made me laugh. He's not convinced by it, is he?
Finally, oh!
A woman in Melbourne fell into a person-sized sinkhole while hanging out her washing. I love sinkholes.