A Road Less Travelled

 

It didn’t take me long to realise that whatever life that I had enjoyed before, it was going to be different now.

That was not to say it would not be fun. It was not to say that it was going to be tougher.  It was going to be just as I said. Just different. As long as I got to stitch or sew something, I was happy.

 

Moving to a new town during Covid, it’s quite a strange experience. Nobody knows that you have just raised the population consensus number. None of the shops are open. Nor are the people are open to any conversation. Not even to give directions to newbies to the area. Everyone just pops to the food shops and establishments and scuttles back home.

The local haberdashery and fabric shop was shut, which bothered me the most. There was no perusing over buttons and debating on rolls of fabrics, and definitely no servicing of sewing machines, which mine were in desperate need of, after sewing so many scrubs uniforms for the NHS, like so many other sewists  around the country.

It took ages for people to realise that I wasn’t just a visitor to the area. I actually lived there, just like them.

Years later, I still have people approach me asking if I am new to the area.

 

The first issue I had when I moved to the area was renting research.

I tried many a place. Some were too remote. Some I reckoned would be too busy when everything opened up again.

 One particular place seemed to be rather friendly (as you can be with a mask on your face) and it had all the amenities that anyone could possibly want. The only problem being it was a tiny flat on a busy High Street above a dodgy looking  shop, however I made the best of it.

It became a little haven where I could tuck myself away and sew my life away whilst I waited and hoped for the return to normal life where I could return to pattern cutting, teaching and constructing the costumes and fashion garments to my hearts content as a freelancer one day. I desperately missed working on films and theatre, which I was so excited to start work on after landing big contracts for making more costumes for the Mission Impossible film franchise, English National Opera and &Juliet and too many other West End Musicals to count, but all work disappeared for so many people in the costume and fashion industry at this time.

I could not complain however, I had a new kind of work to focus on as head of an opera costume tailoring department in deepest Sussex. I was one of the lucky ones in terms of finding work in such unprecedented times.

I also had an exciting offer of  being commissioned to research and write a new fashion book, what an opportunity!

Did I have time to do that?

There was only one way to find out.

Living on a High Street is not for the fainthearted, especially in the middle of the night when you can hear powerful motorcycles revving their engines and tearing up the tarmac. Also when you can hear police sirens and fire trucks going to all sorts of emergencies, it made me wonder just what kind of place I had moved to?

Pretty tricky trying to sleep during the Christmas period too. It was the issue with Christmas lights which happened to beam down into my living area which was also a little much.

Now, I love Christmas like everybody else, but I became became Ms Grinch when I was trying to snooze on my sofa to the pulsation of electric blue lights of the Christmas decor that was hanging directly outside the window, it kind of takes the shine off of the festive period and I could not wait until January came when it would be taken down again.

Parking my car was also an issue as I had a parking space which was very close to the building designated dumping area, so every time I got in my car, I ran the gauntlet of several refuse sacks and the aroma of fermented bins.

I also come across a person one evening, which was really worrying, as he seemed to have  settled down for the night and he was not too keen on somebody parking their car in his space.

I have a feeling he thought I was parallel parking into his bedroom. I felt kind of mean asking to move, but I was where I was supposed to actually put my car? The spot was assigned to me and there was no other place to put a child’s scooter in the car park, never mind my car.  The ground was awfully smelly, wet and muddy. Fine for a car, but definitely not for a human being. I offered him a sandwich and beverage, but he just trudged off, mumbling to himself, never to be seen again by me.

Another issue with living by yourself is the situation when you fall ill.  I was used to having someone nearby who I could talk to, who I could ask to pop to the shops or chemist for me and I could just lay in bed and just try to recover from my illness.

Being sick by yourself is horrible.

I was on my own and I had to work it out. How I managed to get to work at all with a reeling headache and shivers, I will never know. Good thing I was working in the building by myself. There was nobody  around to contaminate.

One afternoon after returning home, I realised I had to put my bins out for collection the next day, which was two floors down and I just did not have any  energy  whatsoever to do so.

In the end, I had to call someone from work who belonged to a different department to drive across town to pick up my bin and to take it downstairs for me. Luckily, they were very kind and did so, and I was always very grateful to them to this day, for being such a nice person.

She became a very good friend.