(One of my favourite pieces from a couple of years ago about my ineptitude in all things DIY)
Make and mend defeats me.
I am the first wave of that generation of baby-boomers of the 1960's who coincided with the great consumer experiment.
This consisted of plentiful goods at relatively cheap prices but by definition of low quality that would not last.
I had a bit of an education in practical skills but no more than being able to fashion a crude box out of jointed wood, weave a small wicker basket or bake a barely edible rock cake.
Consequently I was being brought up as an ideal consumer. I would only be fit to purchase, quickly wear out and then have to replace everyday goods, utensils and appliances with no thought, hope or comprehension of undertaking that which previous generations had to do in the art of repair.
This was surprising in view of my genetic inheritance of having a clever and intuitive Father when it came to tinkering and mending and an equally enterprising and improvisational Mother where making and fashioning things were concerned. To a certain extent they were themselves the offspring of a more austere period.
By austere I do not mean a puritanical black and white existence but one of prudence, living within your means, putting aside funds for a rainy day and just plain saving up and economising on other things to be able to afford what was really needed.
My parents showed me a photograph, I recall, of their assembled wedding gifts in all of their brand new sheen and show. Remarkably to me but not to them was that most of the items are still, today, in the house and many remaining in everyday use and in as good a condition as when first unwrapped after all of those years. It was not a case of buying the best but the fact that furniture, dinner services, cutlery, ornaments, glassware and furnishings of that time were taken for granted as being of top quality, master crafted and durable.
The things were also repairable and could be maintained easily to prolong their usefulness and appearance. This was also the case for larger products such as the early TV's, radio sets, other electrical appliances and the new and affordable motor car.
My Father was never more happy than carrying out repairs to his cars and I was privileged to be asked to pass up skilfully crafted tools from the grease and oil saturated canvas saddle bag in which they were kept, immediately to hand and ready for use. Mother was and remains swift and deft with the sewing machine making up curtains, clothing and all manner of soft furnishings to adorn the home and us children.
I was brought up in a house of make and mend.
As every household must have, there was always at least one kitchen drawer crammed full of screwdrivers, electrical fuses, insulating tape, washers, assorted nuts, bolts and screws, one jubilee clip, the rubber seals from Kilner jars, sticking plasters and a key for letting the trapped air out of new fangled radiators.
The back wall of the garage was arranged with every type of tool for any job. The sewing box was a visual delight of buttons, spare fasteners and zippers, balls of wool and brightly coloured cotton on wooden reels.
What killed off the spirit and desire of the art of repair was the mass production of shoddy goods and our willingness to simply dispose of them when inoperable or damaged even if potentially salvageable with a little application, thought and patience.
I am ashamed and embarrassed by the contents of the plastic container that is loosely referred to as my tool box. My Grandfather's well cared for woodworking tools were passed from down previous generations. Although in regular use by him they were looked after and cherished in order to continue a livelihood, passion and pastime. I had thought about taking them on but left them in a safer environment upon the shocking realisation that I did not have an inkling how to use them properly.
My so called tool box is a loose array of oddments of socket sets (never used for purpose), miscellaneous but totally useless sized allen keys, bent and distorted chisels (from inappropriate applications), various drill bits also wonky from mis-use and solid bristled paint brushes, used once and not cleaned. The pinnacle of my making and mending extends to perhaps changing a plug, fitting a bulb, stopping up holes with expandable foam and botching the fitting, fixing and securing of something to everything else.
The manufacturers on a global scale are reputed to make more from servicing and spare parts than the actual production process but have made it so technical and awkward that any servicing and fitting of spare parts has to be done by themselves or their acolytes. If you have ever tried to arrange for the collection and taking away for repair of anything you will appreciate that it is just as easy to throw the thing away and purchase brand new.
Modern consumer goods are rapidly obsolete, redundant or just superseded by the next best and must have appliance or gadget.
I unfortunately am an unwilling participant in this because of my lack of confidence and skill in the art of repair.
I am not alone as can be illustrated by the rapid disappearance from our High Streets and Back Streets of repair shops trading in everything from replacing a sole or heel on shoes to rewinding copper wire around electric motors. Small radio shops, TV repairmen, car repair workshops and jobbing tailors have been driven out of business by the consumer society.
Some survive and I have been heartened to hear of and recently see a short documentary type film entitled "The Art of Repair" featuring small businesses in traditional sectors which are clinging on against the onslaught of a throw-away culture.
See what you think of it. I challenge you to still have dry eyes or ice cold indifference afterwards.
http://theguardian.com/sustainable-business/blog/video/the-art-of-repair-old-objects-new-life-video
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