Superman showed up on my doorstep at a most inopportune time. Another torn cape and laddered tights. ‘Tuesday,’ he said. ‘I need them by Tuesday.’

It’s not that I begrudge the work. Playing a small part keeping our Superheroes working is great, but they have no sense of priorities. In truth, it’s all a bit me me me. And they don’t try and avoid damage. Sometimes I think they deliberately try and snag something or test its fire resistance.

That Silver Surfer is the worst. You just don’t mix sea water with meshed aluminium/Lycra panelling. It is not a good combo. I suggested we use the new alloyed plasticised linen, but he said it looked grey in sunlight. Picky. That’s his trouble. It’s not like you care if he’s a dull silver when your life’s being saved, do you?

Now Superman is considerate compared to some. Apologetic. You want to hug him. But, see, today I had those awful Incredibles – so pushy – and their new outfits. A rebranding. Bloody Marvel; it’s all marketing and image. Still, I’d be out of business if I ignored what Marvel wanted.

Yes, Superman is my favourite. He’s why I’m in this business in the first place.

One minute I’m at my loom, slogging through the last year of my Textile degree wondering if I’ll end up in fashion or furnishings; next there’s this explosion and we’re surrounded by fire. Well, you can imagine. All that material. And us, on the top floor – we’re above the height of the tallest ladder. In the old days we’d have been toast.

These days you hope for something like that, don’t you? Ever since they taxed the bankers to pay for our own coterie of Superheroes everyone wants a life threatening disaster so they can be saved by a hunky piece of the supernatural. Some say that there are those who start these fires deliberately. Dreadful.

There were ten of us, waiting to see who they’d send. Maureen, she’s that snooty cow from Knitwear, she said she didn’t want Superman because he was ‘past it’. Ok, they aren’t in the full flush of youth – their peak was in the 50s, we know that – but they’re not mercenaries. You know, taking a large pay cheque before retiring to some planet where they’ve done away with death (only remaining certainly there are taxes, I suppose). No, they are doing this, using their experience, to do good. They’re running a youth programme, aren’t they? That must mean something.

It was Superman who came. While he’s carrying me to safety I see this tear. It’s only polite to offer to fix it. He’s sceptical; they use some tough fabrics but I know my stuff. Well, long story short, that was the first commission.

Now it’s all of them. I’ll fit him in. Of course I will. I just wish they’d take a bit more care. But they do like showing off, don’t they?

This first appeared in Finish That Thought. It wasn’t even an also-ran there but I liked it so here it is, in case you do too.