Made a draft version of Camilla’s camicia this morning (6am, natch) fron an old sheet. Found a pattern on the web in a very helpful dressmaking diary – I’m growing in respect for the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) folks. Clinically insane, but hugely helpful!! It wasn’t difficult at all, but I’m glad of the many years of being school-play-wardrobe-mistress, and of my 40-year-old Singer sewing machine. Sewing is a discipline, nothing more, nothing less. I learned a salutory lesson from my best friend’s mother when I was at school. Suzanne and I were incredulous when we found out that her mom had removed and replaced a sleeve from a tailored jacket she made, lining and all, when she realised that the pattern was about a millimetre out. We thought she was crazy, but from that point, I was slowly converted from slapdash needle-monkey to pernickety seamstress, and now I think I would probably do the same. So does that make me clinically insane, too? Son 1 probably thinks so. He came home from breakdancing to find me barrelling down the stairs in a white camicia, looking for the camera. “Here, take some pictures,” I bark. How many 13-year-olds have mothers that flounce around in seventeenth-century shifts?