OVER the last seven years a pattern has emerged in my life where between mid-February and mid-March I lock myself in the house and sew for England or rather our local theatre group. It’s the same every year, just before lift off, my eyes glaze over, the sewing machine goes into melt down and my long suffering husband Keith starts to consider going home to mother. My humble bedroom, which has doubled as a sewing room for the last six weeks looks like a badly managed early 19th Century haberdashery and the dress rail is full to busting with an assortment of something like Victorian costumes. Looking back throughout my life I seem to have developed a habit of biting off more than I can chew. It’s a good job I have so many kind friends to give me a hand. Last Friday evening two of them Avril and Carole, popped in to help out. After pulling me out from under a pile of lace and waistcoats they advised me to have a day off and a change of scene. As I was hovering on the verge of instability (some would say I have been that way for years) I took their advice. So on Saturday morning I put on my lipstick, got behind the wheel, and I played a good game of ‘Dodge the pot hole’, along the A684, arriving in the heaving metropolis of Kendal around 10.30am for a bit of retail therapy.

It certainly helped but I still found myself laying awake going over my lines and wondering if I had forgotten to put a fastener on a dress while making a mental note to check that the papier mache pigs head and ten trotters made it to the props box. It’s too late now as it’s opening night for the Rose Community Theatre’s, musical comedy, Trouble at Farflung Mill, and I will shortly be stepping out on stage as Lady Ophelia Treacle, mother of 12 daughters. Luckily it’s only pretend. The most laughable thing is that I am wearing something out of my own wardrobe as I have no time left to make myself a costume.