Testimonials

It all started when I noticed a slate mosaic on the front of Amanda's house. It was a clump of snowdrops, beautifully created from old bits of tile and glass beads. I liked it, and said so when Amanda answered the door.

It had been a gift from a friend, made by someone in Helmsdale. Amanda liked it too. "Do you fancy going on a course to learn how to make them?" she asked. This was a bit out of the blue, but I scribbled the artist's website on my chequebook, then forgot all about it.

A week later Amanda mentioned that there was a two day course coming up at the end of May…had I checked out that website yet? Did I fancy going? Logging on to www.wildtiles.co.uk the problem of what to get my mum for Mothers' Day was resolved (she now has a slate with a single mosaic daisy on it) but did I really want to spend a weekend in Helmsdale getting messy with grout and bits of old tile?

For a start it all looked quite complicated. And clearly I would need some artistic talent. I've not picked up a paintbrush narrower than half an inch since I dropped art in second year at school, and the only tiling I've ever done is in the bathroom…plain white is hardly creative, and come to think of it, the grouting is beginning to look a bit grotty…

Two whole days of mosaics was a bit risky. Was there not a halfway house? Ordering the Mothers' Day stuff I struck up an email correspondence with Jan from Wildtiles. She agreed to come to Inverness to teach us "the basics in a day" if we could find a group of 8 and a room to get messy in. Charleston Academy provided the venue, a quick ring round secured the mates, and the date was set; Amanda's birthday, as luck would have it.

9.30 is an early start for a Saturday, but by the time we arrived (with the kettle) Jan had already unpacked. Surrounding us were bits of old kitchen units, crates of broken tiles, cracked mirrors, shiny glass beads, a myriad of scary looking tools, and scrap books full of the most stunning and (to us) unattainable designs.

Worryingly, she had also brought a large box of plasters.

Jan announced confidently that by the end of the day we would each have made a mosaic we could proudly display at home. There was much guffawing and exchanging of knowing glances…few of us are known for our artistic flair.

Pay attention girls, the demonstration had started. This tool to cut straight lines or squares, that tool to cut chunks or nibble off the edges…but use it upside down to cut wavy lines, ideal for flowers stems or sea. Cutting glass and mirror used another set of tools (and skills) altogether, and there was an old cement bag and a hammer if anyone felt like getting violent.

The kitchen cabinet bits were to be our boards…Pam nabbed the biggest one. Soon our design ideas were fixed and were raking through the tiles and broken crockery, elbowing each other out of the way, desperate to find just the right colours.

Shards of ceramic started flying. It was hard to look at Jan's scrapbooks and imagine producing anything remotely as good, but with within minutes of starting to place random pieces of tile onto chalk outlines, pictures began to emerge. It was absorbing work. Jan's encouragement was inspiring, her enthusiasm infectious. With plasters on our fingers, PVA in our hair and Cajun music spurring us on, we felt invincible.

For beginners, mosaic is wonderfully forgiving. If the first bit of tile doesn't fit then take the hammer to another piece. And the gaps don't all have to be the same size because you'll fill them all with grout anyway. By 3 in the afternoon (with barely a stop to refuel) we had covered our boards.

We cleared the decks…the grouting was next. Powder grout and water, poster paint and wooden spoons, little bits of cardboard, tiny squares of towel and lolly sticks (don't ask). But my glue hadn't dried and the tiles kept slipping. Suddenly I didn't like this anymore. "Just keep going, it will be fine" Jan breezed. I didn't share her confidence. But more PVA, and a polish with a dry paintbrush, and it was done!

We had been well warned us at the start that our finished mosaics would reflect our personalities. Jinny's was a radiant red sun, bursting out of the corner of her board. Sarah's white daisies shone calmly from a cornflower blue background. Pam's huge pink starflowers leapt from a beaded and purple background. That says it all, really.

And mine? Well, I made a gecko. I'm not quite sure what he says about me, but I read somewhere that in hot countries round the Med, no happy home should be without one. Yes, thank you, I am extremely proud of him. He's on the kitchen wall, a reminder that for one glorious day, I was creative.