In fact, some things don’t even make it out of my head before they go wrong. There are projects that have been unpicked more times than I care to admit. Pieces that were cut twice because I measured once. Things I was convinced would be the one that ended up folded into a drawer, never to be worn, gifted, or spoken of again. I have an actual drawer for them. A drawer of UFOs - unfinished objects - quietly waiting their turn.

As you can probably guess, my fabric choices can be as chaotic as my brain. That doesn’t mean they can’t work together, it just means they might not make sense to anyone else at first glance. I can get wildly carried away in a fabric shop, stroking bolts of fabric like a Victorian lady fainting over velvet and spending far too long gazing at colour ranges instead of making decisions.

But then summer rolled in, as it always does, and suddenly I had six weeks off work. Six whole weeks of no bells, no students, no deadlines. That was when everything shifted. With time, space, and absolutely no one policing my day, I really started to learn who I was, and I threw myself straight into sewing. I was on every sewing course going. If someone was teaching it, I was there, armed with a notebook and absolutely no self-control around fabric shops.