Sitting across from me at the mending circle is Chelsea, 29, a NHS psychologist, who has brought in her threadbare wool coat, which, she says, needs to see her through the winter. After Cat shows her how to darn and stabilise the fabric with an embroidery loop, Chelsea is off, methodically sewing up the holes. ‘This is so effective,’ she exclaims. ‘I used to pay someone to mend for me, but, you know, teach a man to fish…’ Chelsea admits to procrastinating when it comes to mending, but, she adds, ‘Coming here makes you actually commit to doing it.’

I can relate: I’ve brought in a Junya Watanabe loose-knit sweater shot with moth holes – it’s been in my mending mountain for years, waiting for the know-how and the right-coloured wool to miraculously appear. Finally, at Mend Assembly, both materialised, with co-founder Padouk Fielding finding a perfect raspberry-pink yarn.

As my mind settles on getting the needle to the right spot, I feel my shoulders drop. ‘I find it really soothing,’ says Sylviane. ‘You’re focused, but you can also let the mind wander.’ During lockdown, I realised that if I darned while homeschooling my six-year-old son, no amount of academic resistance could rattle me. Darning was my Valium. Add in a few friendly faces and some relaxed chat, and the effect is pretty gratifying.

‘I live alone in a caravan, so it’s really nice mending with other people,’ says 38-year-old Hayley, a charity worker, as she sews a hook and eye on to a skirt. Chelsea agrees: ‘Some of my friends learn mending techniques on YouTube, but it’s better in person.’