Ina the living statue

A policeman dropped by the car the other night, and remarked that it seemed strange that Bawbag had knocked on the car window back in December.

People now knock on my car window every day.  I am a living statue, although my colours are more entertaining. I was stopped in the street the other day and identified as ‘the sewing lady.’

Sometimes they want to ask about my work, today’s wanted to tell me I was amazing.  Sometimes they mouth that they love me through the window.  International tourists have sent photos of me back home.

I have also overheard people coming out of the pub and remarking that I am clearly having a better time than they are.  They are correct, although I am beginning to wonder if I should take up listening to non-fiction audio books rather than dance music.

Dancing whilst sewing in my car actually started because I was extremely cold, and concerned about possible DVT.

Since then it has become something of a statement.  Had the owner of Two Grapes not been an asshole, he would be getting a weekly dose of it for nothing. However, like all the others, he was an asshole.

Although all of this happened by accident, largely due to the actions of Little Shiva, it has been most educational.  I would never otherwise have known how intoxicating sewing is to men of all ages, for a start.  I am particularly fond of the sporty ones, who check the sewing as if they are watching a match.  Note that they aren’t checking me out, it is definitely the sewing.  Ages of men drawn to sewing have varied from 9 – 90 and social class is entirely irrelevant.

Women are more diverse.  I get a few who applaud the logo, whom I like very much, some who also sew, who like to check what I am doing in passing, preferably without me noticing, and some, remarkably are extremely jealous and actively avoid looking even as their partner nudges them to tell them to.

I have had only two directly negative responses.  One was a guy who objected to his date watching me work and who was actually quite frightening in his contempt for somebody who wasn’t harming him at all.  He actually stormed out of the restaurant they were in, pushing his date in front of him, so I hoped that she was in the process of dumping him before he started actually hitting her.  The other was a young drunk, and his equally young companions were gratifyingly horrified by his verbiage.

An interesting feature of this accidental survey is that a frighteningly large proportion of the population have never actually seen anyone sew before, and so they have no vocabulary to talk about it – they see wool, so they will ask if it is knitting, I will say no, it is sculptural embroidery and then we usually talk about colour.

Grumpy dude has been the cream of the crop for creative chat.  He took a photo of my yeti boots this morning and seems to be just entertained by the fact something is happening.  He isn’t as grumpy either, so perhaps I will have to come up with a new name.

Sometimes all you need is for someone to listen to you and say yes, that’s good.  Sometimes that means a lot to you.


You may also like