It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a middle-aged woman in possession of an empty nest must be in need of a craft project.
Sadly, previous experimentations with cards and calligraphy left me with stains I’ll never get out my smock. But I remained undeterred; craft success would be mine if I avoided hot glue guns and sharp stubby nibs. The quest to find my inner craft goddess should recommence with a small and simple sewing task.
In short, I wanted to make a teeny tiny mouse.
I have a thing about toy mice. Ever since my son left for university, I look into their beady eyes and melt into a hormonal quagmire of tears and longing. The mice which have truly scurried their way into my heart are called ‘Mailegs’. These Scandinavian ‘mouse in a matchbox’ toys do something to a lot of children under-12 and tug on the heart strings of all women over-50.
But ignore Jessie J; you do have to worry about the price tag when a Maileg baby mouse in a carry cot is £19.95. As for the Maileg circus, if you have to ask (£116.25) you can’t afford to go there.
Figures like these will lead you to pick the toys up and wonder if – given enough instruction and the paramedics on stand-by – you could possibly make them yourself.
No sooner had this thought crossed my mind than I chanced upon an advertisement for a ‘Miss Mouse workshop’ the very next day. Promising to be a morning full of ‘fun, tea and cake’ – even the risk of meeting my own maker on icy country roads could not stop me from making a mad-dash to Curly Magpie vintage shop in Swadlincote.
The portents looked good. Nothing warms the cockles faster than three hours of free parking within a stone’s throw from a venue. I was further cheered when the wonderfully creative tutor, Amanda Towns of Sew Vintage, showed us to a table groaning under the weight of buttons, bows, ribbons and lace all waiting to adorn mice she’d thoughtfully pre-cut and sewn. All the seven attendees had to do was stuff and assemble.
What could possibly go wrong?
“Have you done much sewing?” asks Helen, the friendly face which greets me across the table.
“Not really,” I lie. In the past few months, I have attempted various fumbled projects which have turned me into a human pin-cushion. But I have persevered because sewing is really soothing – even when you have no aptitude for it whatsoever.
Amanda agrees; “When you’re sewing, it’s impossible to think about anything else. It’s a perfect antidote for stress.”
She’s right because, minutes into the session, we’re all laughing at our attempts to stuff wadding into our toy mice; a task which is rendered almost impossible due to our hands being numb with cold (it’s a bitterly cold day). Not even the assistance of small scissors, knitting needles and slim pens seem to make this ‘simple’ task any easier.
“I keep missing my hole,” giggles Sandra while appealing to Amanda for something with a ‘bigger knob’ which gets us all going.
It takes us all a good hour until to get the body parts sufficiently firm enough…by which time we’ve exhausted all the sewing euphemisms and moved onto pregnancy and child-birth stories. One lady even tells us about a workshop she has just completed aimed at improving mental resilience. The secret, she says, is picturing your life stresses, challenges and problems in a large bucket and discovering ways to empty it. Some of the things we imagine are helping – over-eating/excessive drinking – simply fill the bucket up even further.
We all agree that sewing is a simple way to kick life’s stress bucket into touch.
That being said, the stress levels do rise a little when we face our first sewing task – attaching the head to the torso. In fact, it’s difficult to get our heads on straight. Some of the mice have a slight ’tilt’ which we chose to call their listening look.
“My head’s all wonky,” says Helen when I show her how my Miss Mouse is star-gazing and not in a good way.
“Don’t worry,” soothes Amanda our tutor as she passes over the seam ripper.
“They’re all handmade, so they will be quirky – it’s those quirky bits that make them all so unique.”
My own “unique features” include arms which looks as though they’re trying to land a jumbo jet and legs which are far too akimbo to be mousey. But all of those thing could be forgiven if my running stitching had managed to keep to a straight line as opposed to a drunken stagger.
This is a ‘Maileg’ mouse as assembled from scraps by Victor Frankenstein.
With 40 minutes to go before the parking attendant was due to swoop on my freely parked car; I realise I am hideously behind my crafty cohorts. While they were choosing fripperies to decorate their finished mice – I was still fiddling around with my ears. Who knew that attaching two floral lobes to a stuffed head could be so difficult? I’d also pricked my finger and not realised until I discovered my poor mouse was covered in blood.
“You can say you’ve given your mouse blood, sweat and tears,” Helen laughs.
Even with Amanda gamely threading all my needles – she advised me to buy a threading gadget and a head-lamp if I plan to keep this up – I just couldn’t complete the task. The sewing across the nose was rushed and wrong; the whiskers so hastily applied; they all fell out on my drive home. As for the last-minute embellishments, I had to resort to trying a huge ribbon around my little friend to hide her embarrassment.
Amanda praised my colour choices and discreetly avoided commenting on my shamefully bad stitching. But as our crafty creations lined up for Amanda’s final photo’ call – I couldn’t help noticing my mouse was very much at thinner edge of a very talented wedge.
Somehow the other novice seamstresses had pulled it off. They’d feathered their nests with very nice mice indeed and we all agreed that sewing in a circle was just about the most relaxing thing you can do outside of a spa.
Sadly, I haven’t found a cure for my Maileg-addiction but, as an antidote to a very stressful week; it was tailor-made.
Workshops for 2019 include a cat brooch, felt hens, pretty purses, floral teacup arrangements and a spring rag wreath and a beautiful bouncing bunny…all held at Curly Magpie & Friends, 61-63 High Street, Swadlincote.
