Going Dark Green

Good morning to my avid fans!

Whoop, whoop! Yes! I now have twenty Substack subscribers! If I had feet, I would be doing a happy jig. But, seeing that dancing is not in my movement repertoire, I'll just amp up my voltage and give Queen Kami a celebratory shock when she next touches me!

This is the 8th instalment of my itinerant ramblings. If you need to catch up on the backstory, this is where you can find it all. Or, you can head straight to the 1st instalment (On-board Shenanigans).  If you stick with me long enough, we might make it to my much more mundane present. For example, apart from Queen Kami's droning teaching voice, this past week consisted of some very irritating dju-dju-dju-dju-djoooooooooh-oooh noises, non-garden-variety weeding, and holding my breath (well, I don't really consume oxygen, but I don't have a better metaphor) while Queen Kami wielded a heat press. Then, right before she needed to rush off to the niece's baby shower, she spent three minutes on Ovy 2 (I've decided to give the dumb replacement overlocker a name) and five minutes on me to attach her snarky labels onto two of said baby's gifts. I'm feeling a bit neglected at the moment. I mean, five minutes? Come on!

You get the gist. My colourful past is way more exciting, so I'll take you straight back to the Berlin basement studio.

A quick reminder of the family dynamics:

I (Nirbe) am one of five fabric-transformation siblings (aka, The Sweatshop Five).

The others are Nerina (our oldest retro seventies-model sister), Brinane (the multi-talented, super-intelligent sister with the embroidery attachment), Aibren (also a small, more limited model like me) and Nabirne (our overlocker brother)

Back to the story:

Last time, I told you all about the queen’s first (and last) foray into (semi) tailored winter coat production. She added that to her been-there-done-that list of achievements. Thank goodness, because the offspring were well past the toddler phase. You know, that time period when little girls obediently don all the out-of-this-world creations churned up by their fashion-defying mothers. But we had reached the Berlin-basement-studio era, when the first two offspring had stepped into adulthood and would tolerate a maximum of one experimental couture item each. Lastborn would step into her designated coat a few years later.

Needless to say, the queen now needed a new DIY project. It took another visit from the mystical Lady D to point the queen in the right(?) direction.

This is more or less how it went:

Lady D floated into the basement studio with one monstrous black bag slung over each shoulder. She still managed to float, of course, looking like a bright pink angel, complete with a flowing pink summer dress, and cerise pink nails, toenails, lips and eyeshadow. The puffed-up plastic angel wings were black, naturally, but they still had a magical air about them.

Queen Kami clomped in behind Lady D, lugging the heaviest bag.

We, the sweatshop five, quickly cottoned on to the situation. Queen Kami had been bequeathed the entire undecided stash of at least three retired Kamikaze Crafters, Lady D being one of them.

“Kami,” said Lady D in her bright, persuasive voice, “I just know you’re the best person to take all this fabric off us and do something brilliant with it. So much better than dumping it all in the recycling bins.”

Queen Kami couldn’t wait to guide her friend out through the front door, so she could start sorting through her bags of wonder. What followed was a full day of oohing and aahing and gazing at odd-shaped fabric cuts from all corners of the globe and all colours of the known spectrum.

“Hmm, underlings, I need to stare at these heaps a while for inspiration. Don’t want to rush into things.”

That did not sound at all like our queen.

“Hey Nirbe,” my sister Aibren called from under the table. She was now plugged in. I was not quite sure why.

“Yes, sis!”

“Do you think she had too much melatonin last night. She’s never this calm and collected.”

“For sure,” said Nerina. “But hang on, she’s going upstairs for coffee number two. She’ll be back to normal when she gets back.”

And sure enough, one cappuccino was all it took.

“Team!” Queen Kami yelled as she stormed down the stairs. “Get ready for action. I know EXACTLY what we’re going to do.”

Her phone was in her hand, open on her favourite app — Pinterest.

“I’m starting a planet-friendly eco party decor business! And I will take every evil balloon company out of business with my reusable festive bunting.”

“WHAT?” I called out to my siblings. “She wants to start a business? Doing party stuff? She doesn’t even like parties. Or people.”

“Yeah! Brace yourselves.” Nabirne broadcast a sigh. He was the only sibling who had mastered this sound-effect.

The next few weeks were a flurry of industry — a million triangles were cut out, pinned and stitched together and attached to cotton tape. Plenty of double-sided options, so one string could have two different looks. I was convinced the queen might decide to tie all those strings together, fasten one end to some pier — probably at Warnemunde, from where the ferries travelled to Denmark — and head to the North Pole with the other end. Scandinavia would have a trail of eclectic bunting running up the continent, over several bodies of water and finally leading all future Polar expeditions to their correct destination.

But the queen did not plan to assist the Polar explorers. She had other ambitions for her eco-decor.

“Right, underlings. What do you think about the bachelorette options?” Those included black lace triangles, pink-and-black lace combos, and so on. Something like this ...

And she held up more examples. There was Denim and lace country style; boho chic, boho shock, boho safari, black tie, pretty baby, zooty baby, confused baby, and a multitude of never-before-thought-out styles. Except for some more conventional themes like “Mad Hatter”, “Poodles in Paris” and “Baby Safari”, the rest of her offering would blaze a brand new trail on the eco party scene.

After she’d stored the newly-completed masterpieces on the shelves behind the green curtain, she spun around and exclaimed, “Shucks, I can’t stop at bunting. I need other decor pieces, too. And serving dishes and stuff.” Hah! At this point the sweatshop five could sit back and enjoy the show.

Accumulating more marvellous eco-stock

Long-forgotten wedding gifts were dug out from kitchen-cupboard recesses, hauled downstairs and deposited onto the studio trestle table. “Hey, underlings! This one was from my grandmother. I always thought it was ugly, but look how cute it’s become.”

When she’d exhausted the kitchen cupboards, she hit the streets. With no logical plan, liberally applying her hard-and-fast strategy. Whenever suitable items at antique markets, flea markets or thrift stores caught her roving eye, she spent her Euro-gig savings on rent-your-party-decor stock. Pre-loved serving dishes accumulated. Cheap wooden cake stands were upcycled with bright pink, red or yellow paint. And a dizzying assortment of fake flowers joined the stash. Yes, they were plastic, but they would last. In fact, the queen told me she’d divided them up between the offspring in her will.

Another stock-take followed, but the queen felt something was still lacking. “Aha! I need custom-made cake toppers! And bespoke cut-outs for my future discerning clients! Mmm! I have to think!” And up the stairs she went.

Three days later, the doorbell vibrated me out of my nap. It was a delivery from that evil JB-owned company. We no longer support it or call it by name. But, back then, the queen was a star member. You know, one of those who didn’t pay for delivery and got to stream movies, too.

Queen Kami shuffled into the studio with a large, rectangular box.

Meet the intruder

“Darlings,” she cooed. “You will never believe what I’ve got here. A nifty addition to your sweatshop team.”

No, no, no! Five is company. Six is a crowd. We weren’t consulted or forewarned about this intruder. The queen was unfazed, and totally unaware of our angry vibes, even though the sweatshop table had started shaking.

She unboxed her soon-to-be favourite underling and set him on the trestle table. I assumed it was a him, with that blue-green lid and all.

“This, my underlings, is a vinyl cutter,” chirped Queen Kami. We were no longer her darlings. Things were going downhill, relationship-wise. “And this nifty device will be churning out the most awesome cake toppers and letter banners you have ever beheld.” She clapped her hands like a toddler.

“Right, let’s plug you in, Deary.” And she dug out his power cord. “Bugger. It’s a UK plug.” Her head rolled down onto the table, and she let out a deep sigh. No verbal abuse — a mere sigh (hmph! ). Turns out the non-Euro plug was due to the queen once again being totally ahead of her time — one of the first German residents to order this model.

“Hee-hee-hee! Serves her right for bringing in that squatter!” chirped Nerina. The sibling giggles shook the sweatshop table even more than the angry vibes. By then, it had moved a good five centimetres.

The queen left for the cool hardware mecca to get the necessary adaptor. There would be no cutting of New Boy’s cable.

While she was away, we reconciled ourselves with the fact that this guy would probably be staying.

“We need to give him a name,” suggested our traitor-brother, Nabirne. He was already developing a soft spot for his new brother.

“Can you make out his species name, Brinane?” I asked. I was so jealous of Brinane’s enhanced capabilities. She could zoom in and read even fine print from ten meters away. Like, the intruder’s instruction manual, which lay open next to him. That might come in handy one day, if we ever need to sabotage anything.

“I see six letters, and the C appears twice.” And she told us the letters.

“CCRTIU,” suggested Aibren, but only she could pronounce that one.

“CICRUT,” said Nirbane. Now we were getting somewhere.

“How about reversing that one?” said Nerina.

“Yes,” I chirped in. “TURCIC! That’s a good one!”

So, our intruder brother had a name. He was not yet connected to any power, so he had absolutely no say in the matter.

Queen Kami returned a few hours later with the plug adaptor and an armload of cardboard in a dazzling array of colours and patterns, including some seriously glittery stuff. She connected the intruder, switched him on and went upstairs to caffeinate herself.

“Hey Dude,” I called out.

“Who me?”

“Yes. Who do you think?” Then I checked myself. We needed to feel out this guy first. No need to antagonise him too much.

“Uhm, I mean, welcome to the clan. We hope you enjoy your stay.” That probably sounded diplomatic enough. My siblings vibrated in approval. “So, Dude, as a welcome gesture, we’ve given you your new name. Wanna hear it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Well, yes. It’s the name, or you get ignored. Totally up to you.”

“Hey, Nirbe,” interrupted my brightest sister, “Queen Kami’s halfway down the stairs. I’ll just do this. Listen up, guy. I’m Brinane, and from now on, you’ll be known as Turcic. Buckle up! The queen is about to test your limits. Chat later!”

And Queen Kami did just that. Over the next few days, Turcic bore the brunt of Queen Kami’s learning curve. We were subjected to hours and hours of irritating YouTube tutorials, incessant dju-dju-dju-dju-djoooooooooh-oooh noises, torn paper designs — crumpled up and launched all over the studio — one or two not-very-deep finger cuts and a few hot-glue-gun burns. But Turcic and Queen Kami finally found their groove and produced the first successful cake topper. (Note: Queen Kami likes going straight for intermediate and advanced designs.)

The Sweatshop Five agreed that Turcic did make strange noises, but he had been put through his paces and passed with flying colours. He deserved his place on our team. From then on, we would be known as The Sweatshop Six.

Till next time.

Your super-diplomatic sewing device,

Nirbe.