Handmade at Christmas

When 'The Great British Sewing Bee' was on earlier in the year I rubbished it as cashing in on endearing pastimes.  Admittedly it featured the charming madness of Claudia Winkleman, some sweet contestants, and Patrick Grant but on the whole it was no 'Project Runway'.

Tonight, sat in my living room with a twinkling Christmas tree and slightly overpowering spices wafting around I switched on the television to find their Christmas episode on BBC2.  No elimination or competition, simply a group of lovely people sat around making homemade gifts and other things you might expect to see around Christmas.  One of the contestants pointed out that homemade presents weren't suitable for everybody; a 15-year old was his example...

"If they've asked for some piece of technology then they probably wouldn't be too happy to unwrap something homemade. But for some a handmade gift can have so many memories, while that important must-have may end up broken and forgotten about in three or four years."

I'm all for debating the value of technology and how it can create just as strong memories but then I also have these:

I'm 27 years old and these four wadded, blue coated, anthropomorphic rabbits sit on a shelf in my bedroom.  I've had them for as long as I can remember, I brought them to University with me, when I was small one would always go where I did.  The three with the black noses were knitted for me by my Grandmother, to me 'Grandma'; the brown nosed rabbit by my Great-Grandmother, forever 'Nana'.

They had names (Samuel, Peter, Benjamin and Jason) just like my other toys and they sit alongside a number of other stuffed animals and childhood figures but they've always been so special to me.  As a child I had the habit of pressing the legs up to my nose and breathing through them, to this day I can't fathom why, but it was always enormously comforting.

It wasn't just rabbits though.  My brothers and I always had jumpers. Never the clichéd kind that we'd be ashamed of wearing; from Power Rangers, Turtles, Dennis the Menace, or a plain Fisherman's ribbed, they'd itch like anything for the first few weeks but I still remember being excited about picking out a pattern and then the arduous task of waiting for it to be finished.

My Grandma passed away two weeks ago, suddenly, sadly, devastatingly.  We talked of the memories that my family and I shared from growing up with her around; for me one of the nicest things is being able to say more than what she once bought me but that she made me things that I loved so much and still do.

I judged 'The Great Sewing Bee' too harshly.  Genuine emotion can be dismissed far too readily as twee and saccharine.  I'd choose these over my iPhone in a heartbeat.