I think it’s time to stage an intervention,” declared my housemate, as I settled on the sofa for another night with the needle and thread.

She was right to be worried. My eyes were crossing from cross-stitching, but I was determined to finish in time for the Kilgarvan Show and far too busy stitching love hearts on aida fabric to care about her (well-founded) concerns.

I learned how to cross-stitch in home economics, where most classes were spent tormenting teachers with my ineptitude in the kitchen. Despite not being domestically inclined during my teenage years (some things never change), I wasn’t bad at embroidery and was thrilled to finally claim proficiency in a craft.

Taking my cue from Maria Moynihan, I decided to rediscover my old skill and enter the craft section instead of baking. That was my first mistake.

When choosing a project, I picked a sampler with a myriad of cute motifs. This led me to the second mistake – not spotting the estimated completion time of 50 hours.

“That’s over a working week,” my colleague Mary Phelan helpfully observed. With just a week and a half before the show, the realisation dawned that I made a terrible error. It could have been arrogance, my competitive nature or a combination of both, but I opted to persevere – third mistake.

With two days left, I took refuge at home in Ballyheigue. My sister, Rachel, who can also cross-stitch, cast her expert eye over the design and ascertained that it would not be finished for Saturday evening, when entries had to be submitted.

In desperation, I started searching the house for anything that could be entered. I even considered digging out the old Junior Cert project.

“Yera, just buy a cake at the shop. Or maybe a pot of jam,” suggested my father, becoming increasingly concerned after witnessing his daughter spend an entire two days hunched over a piece of fabric.

Rachel offered to finish the stitching on the road to Kilgarvan, on the condition that I’d stop off in McDonald’s on the way home for a McFlurry. Beggars can’t be choosers, so along she came.

We didn’t manage to complete the stitching, but thankfully it was fit for the show. As a result of my earlier ripping-things-off-the-wall frenzy, I also submitted a few photos.

After entering, we took a look at the fabulous entries on display. It was clear that I wasn’t the only one who went to a lot of effort, and I wasn’t very confident about my chances.

The next day, the family headed to the land of Healy-Rae. It was the 30th anniversary of the show and the village was buzzing – Kerry won the match too, which helped. The voice of commentator Helen O’Sullivan added to the atmosphere, as she scolded young fellas on loudspeaker.

I headed straight to the craft tent and was delighted – and shocked – to see a first place trophy next to my cross-stitch. Also, one of my photos placed third.

Were the hours of stitching worth it? Yes for the win, but probably not for my mental or physical health. Next year I’ll be more prepared – or perhaps I’ll have the sense to bake some biscuits instead.