Kayt Turner: 'I've made the odd stab at taking up a hem but it looks as though I've been sewing in the dark'

Published on Thursday 24 June 2010 14:00

MR TURNER came in the other day very excited. Very excited indeed. And when he told me his news, I was equally excited. A new tailor has opened up across the road from Turner Towers.

You might not think this news to be a major cause for celebration. You might well be thinking "poor souls, they obviously don't get out much". You would, to a certain extent, be correct - but that doesn't stop us from throwing caution to the wind and revelling in the joyous news. We are, after all, nothing if not devil may care types. Even though it turned out that we were celebrating for quite different reasons.

First, my reasons. I always have my clothes altered. I'd like to say that I'm forever having to have them taken in, but that would be a lie. The fact of the matter is that I am short. Short in arm and leg, which means that I've needed hems taken up on almost every item of clothing that I possess. Otherwise things drag along the ground.

I am what is politely described as "petite". Although, that just means that I'm roughly the same height as almost every other Scottish woman I've ever met. Indeed, I tower over quite a few, so my body shape is hardly freakish. Stores are getting better with the provision of clothes for us wee dottles, but it's not always easy to find stuff that fits. Especially since I can't go back into Next any more. Well, a husband standing outside the fitting rooms loudly asking how it is, exactly, that a size 18 can still be described as "petite" does rather encourage the staff to ask you to vacate the premises.

You may think that taking up a hem is a relatively simple process. One that should easily be within my capabilities. Well, yes and no. Whilst it's true that I breezed through my third-year fabric and fashion course by running up a stylish and swish A-line skirt from the finest turquoise polyester that Remnant Kings had to offer, it's also true that I have never called upon those talents from that day to this. Oh, I've made the odd stab - literally - at taking up a hem or sewing on a button, but it looks exactly as though I've been sewing in the dark. With my eyes closed. Wearing oven gloves.

My incompetence with a needle, coupled with an innate female ability to buy things in the sales that just need a wee nip or tuck to make them fit perfectly, means that I have a great deal in my wardrobe that has never seen the light of day. But now, a tailor on my doorstep! What could be better?

I started to pull out bags that I keep hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe. The ones where I squirrel away all those ill-judged sale purchases. I was already picturing myself swanning about in the gorgeous grey wool trousers that I bought at the beginning of the summer. The ones that were a complete bargain, but are easily 20cm too long even when I have my highest of high heels on.

"Where are you going?" asked Mr Turner. "Er, isn't it obvious? Too long trousers. Brand new tailor.I'm going across the road to have him take these up as soon as possible. Is that not why you told me about him?" Which is when the reason for Mr Turner's giddy excitement became apparent. "Oh no," he said, "he's got a sign in his window offering sewing lessons. I've signed you up."