Thoughts on sheets and shirts

I got a new bed sheet on Saturday, having shamed myself into it somewhat. The old one was faded fuchsia pink, the new one is a sort of lemon yellow with just a touch of green. (I do have two other sheets, one celery green and one dark blue, but the former is nearly worn through and looks it, and the latter is flat rather than fitted so is always the sheet of last resort). But the new one is lovely. I washed it and line-dried it before it went on the bed, and M ironed it. We were truly spoilt in a crisp and fresh sort of way.

I am also recycling the old one. Rags are very useful in plumbing class, and there are never enough of them. I have a hunch that teenage boys will be less likely to nick something that's faded fuchsia pink. If this proves to be true I will suggest they get some fuchsia pink screwdrivers as well.

In related environmentally friendly developments, I have had my needle and thread out tonight, mending M's favourite T-shirt. His new man skills don't extend quite as far as needlework, which means that even my very bad sewing attempts are generally appreciated. Said T-shirt is emblazoned with the slogan 'German Industrial Rock Terrorist', mind, so a tiny part of it might be to do with feeling that German industrial rock terrorists can't be caught mending their own T-shirts.

I'm quite happy to have the occasional stab at back stitch these days, but it was not always thus. I remember lying on a beanbag with my Significant Ex many years ago. We were both stoned out of our trees and listening to Nick Drake's Five Leaves Left... now an album whose every note is familiar but at the time it was all new and hopelessly romantic. Apart from one song, which I thought was about a man who lived in a shirt, as in he only had the one, probably because he was too boxed to go to the shops. He had a hole in his shirt, and he wanted the girl next door to come and mend it.

I sat bolt upright and said 'mend your own bloody shirt'. My Significant Ex started laughing at me and didn't stop for about half an hour.

It was of course Man in a Shed. And anyway, it was all metaphor, right? I never was any good at metaphor.

joella