Craft Christianity

The Forgotten Art of Culture Repair

My Broken Watch

Even in teeming world cities such as Sydney, there is a place for craft. Those singularly focussed, lovingly tended, vocations in which generations have been undertaking the same gentle task at the same gentle pace. There is still a place for slow time.

Or in my case, a place for a craft that fixes time. A few weeks ago, having discovered that the crown of my prized Seiko Presage watch would no longer wind, I searched online for a repairer in the CBD.

I had bought the watch - with its fine emerald-green face, its slim chamfered hands, and its glass back that allows you to see the full machinations -, with the first fruits of my first book’s royalties.

I love wearing it. I love looking at it! I love the smooth wind of the crown, the burnished leather strap with its distinct doubled-back clasp. It has garnered the scent of three or my three or four eau de toilettes.

It has received enough admiring comments for me to know it stands out. So I wasn’t about to let it moulder in the box unfixed now that it needed repair.

I would not permit it to be reduced to the state of my 21st birthday watch, a loved, but no-longer-working timepiece which was a gift from my mother. It cost her a fortune on her single parent wage back in 1988.

Even as I write, I have taken that older watch out of its collectables drawer to look at it again. It is nothing compared to the Presage, but it is everything at the same time. It reminds me of a time when I was less hard to impress, a time I occasionally ache for.