It all started innocently enough. A friend was turning fifty and an expert needlewoman herself, she asked fifty friends to each create a patchwork panel for her to combine into a birthday bedspread. Our local community centre has a patchwork class so I asked if I could commission them to do the piece for me. ‘Oh, no' they said ‘You must do it yourself or it will have no meaning for your friend.' So the arrangement was made that myself and another novice patchworker would attend the class as a one-off to make our patches. With the written instructions in our hands we shopped and purchased our pieces in the chosen colours and proudly turned up to class clutching them. ‘On no,' the Patchwork Police (PP) said ‘that won't do.' ‘But that's not cotton! It's poplin.' said another sternly. ‘Do you mean you haven't washed and preshrunk them?' interrogated another. ‘Why has she used metric?' asked yet another, ‘ We use inches.' ‘How big is her block?' ‘What's a block?' we wondered. ‘No, they just won't do,' said the teacher and sent us off to a distant craft shop to try again. ‘Expelled from patchwork class,' sighed Trish, ‘This is real love to go through such humiliation for a friend.' Next we were taught how to wash our cloth and watch out for ‘loose dye'. ‘Loose dye' being the bane of all patchworkers, and wouldn't you know it, one of my pieces had a touch of it. Our pieces were put out on the tables in the courtyard to dry. Then Basic Ironing was next on the curriculum. 'You do know the difference between ironing and pressing don't you?' ‘Oh yes,' we lied moothly. Then out came the geometry and the graphs and the grids and the measuring strips and the cutting pad. There's no such thing as scissors any more folks, the PPs prefer to cut and slash with a sabre-sharp pizza wheel . ‘You're causing us a lot of grief.' they said to us sternly over their glasses as we watched them wield their weapons from a safe distance. ‘Your pins are too thick‘ I was told, ‘They're not pins. THIS is a pin. The pins in the red containers are thinner and longer. Now for homework sew three pieces together in a strip with a 1cm seam allowance and when you iron the seam' -- ‘Oh don't let them iron' interrupted the Grim One in horror. ‘No, perhaps not. Bring them back next week and we'll show you how to finish.' ‘And bring champagne. We like it well chilled' ordered the Grim One. ‘Make sure you use the right side of the fabric or you'll have to unpick,' threatened the Gestapo. The next week we timidly approached the class. ‘This is ridiculous, there's nothing to be scared about' we braced each other ‘ We're grown women and senior cits as well!' ‘It can't possibly be as bad as last week.' We brought our homework and the champagne. We passed our finals and completed our patches. We popped the bottle and our instructors mellowed momentarily. ‘But we have to embroider our initials in the corner', we confessed. ‘And I can't embroider' said Trish sadly. ‘I'll do it for you,' said a Kind One. ‘No, you won't!' said a PP, ‘They have to do it themselves.' ‘Is it like fancywork?' asked Trish innocently. Down went the work, up went the eyebrows and ‘Fancywork is a dirty word,' was the stern reply. ‘Your needle's no good' said the Embroidery Police. ‘You need a Size 8 Crewel. And this thread has no sheen. I suppose it will be alright in Whipped Stem. You do know how to do Whipped Stem, don't you both?'Desperate to escape, we lied valiantly and clutching each other we rolled, laughing hysterically, across the car park towards home but were stopped by an eccentric looking lady. ‘I do so love seeing people enjoying themselves.' she said. ‘We've just failed Patchwork Class‘ Trish confided, mopping her eyes. ‘Oh' said the strange lady, ‘I'm a free spirit myself, too!.' ‘I feel like a Valium and a lie down,' said Trish as we drove home. ‘Industrial Strength gin and tonic, for me. ' quoth I. FOOTNOTE: We hope our dear friend appreciates her patches. And no, dear reader, we won't be contributing to her 100th year quilt. ________________