Everyone who sews has two garments in the wardrobe.
There's the one you're proud of — the fit that finally worked, the fabric that did what you hoped, the thing people ask you about.
And there's the other one. The one that went wrong somewhere you still can't quite identify, that you spent three weekends on, and that has never once left the house. See pictures for one of my worse examples of epic failure!
Bring both.
How the evening works
Eight conversations in an hour. It runs a bit like speed dating, but way more fun! No judgement, just supportive suggestions.
You'll be in pairs, swapping every seven minutes. Two garments each, seven minutes, then everyone moves. Seven minutes is short on purpose — long enough to turn something inside out and get a real answer, too short for anyone to get stuck being polite.
By the end of the hour you'll have had your work looked at properly by eight people, and looked properly at theirs. Most of us never get that once.
There's a box on the table. Any time you and your partner can't work out what went wrong with something, write it on a card and put it in.
Then we sit down and I open the box.
Between us we'll try and work out what happened — why the drape collapsed, why the shoulders pull, why that fabric was never going to do what the pattern wanted. Forty-five years of sewing has taught me that almost every disaster has a reason, and that the reason is usually more interesting than the garment.
What if I don't have a disaster?
You do. It might not look like one.
If you rescued it — unpicked it, recut it, made it wearable — bring it and tell us what it was before. A rescue is the most useful thing in the room, because you're the only person who already knows the answer.
If you abandoned it, bring it unfinished. Half a garment with the pockets still pinned on absolutely counts.
If you never wear it and you can't say why, bring that. Working out why is the whole evening.
If it's gone — binned, donated, cut up for something else — bring a photo, or just bring the story. Some of the best failures only exist as a description now.
One good thing and one difficult thing is the idea. Nobody is checking.
Who it's for
Anyone who sews. There's no skill level attached to this evening, and nothing you bring needs to be finished, good, or worn in public.
If you've been sewing for six months, come. If you've been sewing for thirty years, come — you'll be the person somebody else needed to sit opposite.
Sewing is mostly done on your own. Even in a room full of people you're at a machine, and a machine doesn't make conversation easy. It has a language of its own, too — there's no point telling someone who doesn't sew that you should have staystitched the neckline.
What you're actually buying is an evening with twenty-nine other people who understand why you're upset about a sleeve.
Why we're doing it
Every cent from every ticket goes to the Royal Flying Doctor Service.
Last November the RFDS flew my husband Matthew 583 kilometres from Esperance to Perth for the emergency surgery that saved his life. This October we're each cycling that distance to raise money for them, and this evening is part of it.
You can read the whole story here: Why we're cycling 583 kilometres this October
The details
When: Friday 16 October 2026, 6.00pm to 8.30pm
Where: Weft and Warp, 3 Altree Court, Phillip ACT 2606
What to bring: Two things you've made. One you're proud of, one that didn't work. Bring them in a bag — you'll be carrying them around the room.
Included: A drink and something to eat.
Numbers: Thirty places. When they're gone, they're gone.
A note on refunds
Tickets aren't refundable, since the money goes straight to the Flying Doctor rather than staying with us — but they are transferable. If you can't make it, send a friend.
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Friday 16 October 2026 |
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