It is so annoying when you
run out of cotton half way through a sewing project (apparently - though the chances of me running out of
cotton are only marginally lower than those of me owning any) so when it
happens to my wife it means an expedition to Boyes’ haberdashery to find some
more of that particular shade of coppery-brownie-gold; once in the shop we soon
pick out three or four bobbins of different hues and manufacture that in turn
seem close enough - but not quite – until we unearth the very one, hidden
behind a misplaced reel thoughtlessly pushed into the wrong slot, whereas (of
course) the rejects we then replace are done with care and accuracy even though
this requires squinting at the labels at such close range that we first bend
double, then kneel and finally, quite comically, end up sitting on the shop
floor.
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