Buy a thing, hate a thing. Put said thing in bin.

Its the age old story. Oh, he / she says, I’m taking up raquet sports. And at that time it seems like the magic bullet to fix all your problems. You’ve been feeling a bit lonely, a bit anti-social; so you’ll join the local squash / badminton / tennis club. Make new friends, feel better. You’ve been feeling remarkably unfit recently, a sports club! Fitness! Physical health filling your bathtub to the rim. Maybe its just been periods of inexplicable depression – some adrenaline to keep the optimism glands producing.

Thats the extreme example. More often than not the “sport” is something smaller, more innocuous. Like, lets suggest “sewing”, like for a friend, you know.

So you then realise that nobody at the sports club likes you. Or, more likely, you don’t like anyone at the club. They’re all hippy weight watcher rejects who use hoi polloi phrases that either class them as yobs or spoilt youths. Neither of which are appealing. They all have bodies crafted by greek gods or as wiry and supple as Fire Emblem characters. And they can all dive-smash a shuttlecock after an eighteen volley ralley without breaking a sweat, whilst you sit and choke your heart up through your throat trying to rake in oxygen whilst treading water in your own perspiration.

Well i just tried Sewing. Yup, you read that right. Needlecraft. And you know what? It sucks. There, i said it. I thought it would be a tranquil respite from the monkey circus, and quieten my deafining mind much like a jigsaw might, or doing some lego. (speaking of which i have the Child and Mandalorian brickheadz to construct, as well as my brnad new Aston Martin DB5. BRNAD. Thats brand out of order.)

But no. It was approximately fifteen minutes of escalated swearing at a needlehead and cursing the incontrollable manner of the tiniest bit of thread imaginable. It curves one way when you want it t’other. Then there is the microscopic forcefield that surrounds even the slightest of fray that ensues you will never ever thread that needle without alien intervention. Or, a needle-threader. But said needle-threader has the solidarity of vinegar ice and thus crumpled in my sausage fingers after about twenty seconds.

I fixed a tiny hole in my pokemon trousers so it wasn’t the waste of time i thought; plus, i was waiting on a phone call anyway, so it wasn’t the end of the world. But i’ll tell you this for free: the £2 sewing kit it going in the bin. Kakking useless.

Much like myself, at sewing, it seems.