Why The Great British Sewing Bee's Patrick Grant has me head over heels with more than just hemlines
I can’t sew.
In high school, our final project was to make a gym duffel bag and I managed to sew the entire zip to the bottom so it ended up like some sort of unopenable, squished pancake.
No amount of unstitching could salvage the black nylon mess I had created.
I’m just so impatient. I’ve sewn buttons back on that look like they wish I’d used Super Glue instead and my attempts at patching up trouser knees? Only Edward Scissorhands could love them.
Amirite? There’s definitely something – actually, everything – about the tall, dark and handsome Scot in his Savile Row suit that inspires me to whip up a new wardrobe.
I wouldn’t care if Patrick Grant asked me to sew an exact replica of Kate Middleton‘s wedding dress in under an hour – just knowing he was watching me from the balcony would be enough to send me into a fabric frenzy.
In my fantasy, Patrick Grant wouldn’t notice that a team of talented, talking mice (a la Disney’s Cinderella) were quickly helping me to cheat my way into his tweed-tailored arms.
He’d walk over to me, his immaculate beard carefully disguising his judge-y grin, saying, ‘Louis, must I remind you that the challenge was to make a wedding dress worthy of royalty? This appears to be a small pair of briefs.’
‘Erm, exactly.’ I reply.
And after our avantgarde wedding in the Highlands (tartan was banned), our honeymoon spent wearing white linen while drifting the length of The Nile and every detail of our torrid break-up splashed across every tabloid (Pat and I agree to remain civil for the children’s sake), my sewing days finally come to an end.
With my share of the millions I retire to a small Greek island, waking up each morning to the delicious smell of freshly baked bread.
‘Good morning, Paul Hollywood.’