The magic of leaving a half done project screwed up in a heap.
Something happens to those dismal ill fitting, awkward looking rags sprouting loose thread ends when you chuck them away in disgust.
My mother, I remember now, used the technique on plants. If one of them had the temerity to defy her best efforts, loving kindness, food and water, she would first ‘give it a good talking to’, next ‘tear it off a strip’ and finally dump it somewhere. A few months, or a year later it would be happily blooming in the corner by the compost heap or shed, begging for a bigger pot.
Today began as sorting the outpost stash day. Screwed up in a plastic box lurked a would have been casual cardi, abandoned a year ago as hopeless. It almost landed in the bin with the rest of the far too small to be any use scraps, and the what was I thinking/who am I kidding mispurchases of nasty black crunchy sheers, overly stretchy, way too thin lycras and stiff as a board poly twills.
I tried it on. Its ok. Its almost good. It only needs a band at the bottom, some interesting buttons and a press. Dumpster magic.