Mum taught me a great many things as I was growing up. Because of her, I can happily tackle cooking/ baking without (too much) fear, I can probably still shoot a netball through a hoop despite being hopelessly unsporty (she was the volunteer netball teacher at our school), and she instilled in me an unwavering belief in the importance of family.
But she also taught me to be a jigsaw addict. It's desperate. Our spare room groans beneath the weight of puzzles, all of which have been completed more times than I count. She taught me the importance of preserving them by always using zippy bags to store the pieces inside their boxes. The wise one even made me my own jigsaw board (which is used for jigsawing of course, but also for a variety of craft projects and now sports stains from paint and glue splodges and even the odd hint of glitter). I'm totally and irredeemably hooked. I'm a jigsaw junkie. There is no cure. Or is there?
A man from Weymouth had spent 200 hours creating a 40,000 piece puzzle, carefully cutting out the pieces and assembling the 150 sq ft jigsaw. The puzzle was complete, he was just making some final adjustments, when it all slid to the floor and landed in a crumpled heap. The puzzle is due to go on display at Sandringham next week before being auctioned for Help for Heroes, so he's now frantically trying to reassemble it and has appealed for volunteer helpers - I suspect he probably doesn't even want to look at it himself right now!
Me? Well, I'm quite tempted to jump in the car and drive down to Weymouth. Nice place, Weymouth. And if I happened to be passing it would seem churlish not to offer assistance ...
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