Under the floorboards

I went underground on Saturday.

Off the face of the earth. Into a room under the floorboards. Here, a few brave people stooped over a common cause. To tame a beast with sharp fangs and a fickle foot. A foot that changed shape. And fangs so extraordinary that it had a name of its own. Feed Dog. Like an order. Feed Dog, or else.

As we gathered in the room under the street, Cambridge walked over our heads, and carried on as usual.

It would've been the perfect setting for a dark, Poe-ish play if it were not for a scrumptious Victoria sponge cake. And colourful, stripey mugs of coffee. And swathes of fabric printed with strawberries and scottie dogs. And Jill - the very antethesis of Allan Poe.

Even the room was cheery! All lovely painted furniture, and polka dot oilcloths.

And to kick the last of my edgy atmosphere, the beast that needed taming was called Janome. Rhyming with salami. Origami. I love mummy.

Here, meet Janome.

And meet Jill. Who has the nicest smiles, and many words a minute. She lives on a narrowboat. And spent the day teaching us a bit of magic.

Of invisible hems and instant buttonholes. Of rick rack, and triple zig zag. Wing needles, and bias tapes. All in the course of a day's sewing. Thanks Jill. And thank you, ladies, for a Saturday very well spent.

And what do you know, by the end of the day, my beast had begun to purr. It even wrote my name. And made a little cushion for Chotto-ma.

So. Who's the mummy, Janome?