I grew up in the country, so maybe my heart will always be there. But there are some things about city life that trump the bucolic idyll. I like to think of myself as a sort of rural operative in the big smoke, an interloper with country-tinted glasses. There are lots of ways to live in the city and yet remain connected to the land. And not necessarily through back-breaking labour in a guerrilla garden; I’m referring to more leisurely pursuits, like cutting wild-flowers from a disused yard or lane. Or knowing where to find wild garlic, timeworn apple trees, or heavy-laden elderberry bushes. Having enough space to grow 10 types of herb, but without the boring lawn-mowing and endless weeding; a simple stroll amongst the cherry blossom, perhaps. No farmyard smells, no gnarly guard dogs pouncing from concealed gateways, and the nearest carton of milk isn’t 7 miles away.

One of the things I love most about city living in Edinburgh (apart from the quality restaurants, compact size, park spaces, charity shops, friendships, proximity to beaches and the Borders etc etc), is the potential quality of street finds. I know, its hardly the pinnacle upon which to base one’s entire way of life. But can there be anything better than rounding a corner to find some old relic cast out from the fold, yet still full of vigour and youth, ready for its next reincarnation? Such items can either be pure gold, like my most recent find, or the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing. I’ve had my fair share of the latter, particularly in the chair department. Trust ye not a fair looking chair for the legs shall ever be wonky and the dowels inept to support the weight of a small human.

Enough soliloquy, let us get to the main event. This nondescript little table was spotted beside the bin along the meadows late on Thursday night, as I snuck out to pinch a branch of cherry blossom before it disappears for the season.

Nothing special, but solid wood and a nice height. Could work as a potting stand perhaps, or a hall console. Legs are pretty wobbly, but easily fixable (by Ali T). But what’s this, a latch?

Up pops the middle section to reveal the riches of Solomon…

An original 1973 Singer sewing machine, complete with instruction manual. The machine slots against the other detachable piece, and to the left, a little cubby hole section for storing sewing bits and bobs.

Magic! Manna from heaven, methinks. But surely the reason it sits keeping the communal bin company is because it doesn’t work. Needs a bit of TLC, some fiddly tinkering, maybe a trip to my friend Mr David Drummond for a few expectant weeks. Alas, its in perfect working order, hums like a kitten and might even out-do my current modern machine for reliability. And of course, its vintage, so its looks simply delightful.

Returning to my ‘one-in-one-out’ theory from the last post, such lofty ideals will have to be temporarily suspended to accommodate this, you must agree. I’ll just need to attach wheels onto it so I can transport it over to number 12 every monday night for sewing club!