Housekeepers I am about to type a sentence I suspect you never thought I would ever type.
I have spent the weekend knitting. Yep. Knitting. Going clickety clack with some pretty red needles and feeling immensely proud of myself and insisting that everybody applaud this huge achievement and worrying ever so slightly that I looked like an old lady every time I sat down and picked up my needles again and feeling absolutely astonished that I could become so thoroughly absorbed in something I have long considered absolutely impossible.
On Saturday morning, Lisa and I set off to take a beginners work-shop in knitting at Knit Wise in Ormskirk. I wasn’t holding out much hope for success. My Darling Mum has shown me how to knit, ooh maybe a hundred times in my lifetime and everytime I have watched, knitted a few rows and declared it impossible. I once even went so far as to take my self to John Lewis and spend many a pretty penny on bamboo needles and gorgeous yarn, only to knit half a garter stitch scarf and promptly abandon it in favour of sitting on my bottom and doing nothing at all.
So there we were, Lisa and I, speedily equipped with a ball of pink yarn and a pair of needles and sent upstairs to learn the mysterious art of casting on with Myra, the owner of Knit Wise and a woman impossibly patient with those of us who can barely fathom something utterly natural to her. There were just three of us trying to learn, me, Lisa and a lovely fellow blogger, Lo from La Folie Emilie who charmed us all with her French accent and frustrated groans as she tried to muddle her way through the bewildering business that is knitting.
And so we began by casting on. Something that befuddled me entirely because I had always cast on by tying the wool around the needle and making a stitch and Myra wanted us to learn the Cable method and I couldn’t find the right stitch everytime and generally fussed and proved myself to be a terrible pupil and Myra was shockingly patient and Lisa laughed a lot and Lo concentrated and a I waffled and before I knew it I was knitting. And to my utter shock purling. And then alternating the two stitches and making pretty patterns and dropping a stitch or two because I was talking too much and showing off a little bit…
I simply couldn’t believe I was knitting. It has been such a long time since I was taught anything scrumptiously new in a workshop setting and I had forgotten how wonderful it feels when something clicks in your head. It was clicking! I was click-clacking past myself. Lisa was deliriously excited as you can see below, and before we knew it we were casting off and signing ourselves up to a pattern reading course in May because patterns may as well be in double dutch, but that too might click right??
And then it was time to go home and Lisa trotted off to look after a husband ailing with man-flu and I delayed going home long enough to do a little shopping and while I was trawling the aisles of W.H.Smith a Cath Kidston knitting tin jumped out at me and the combination of Cath with knitting was too much to resist and before I knew it I was sitting at home casting on 180 stitches to make a
For tell me this and tell me no more: how is a person to fit in the time-consuming business that is knitting? Will my house go to rack and ruin as I sit and master the art of moss stitch? Will I need to re-mortgage the house to afford all that much coveted yarn? Will my housekeeping readers abandon me in droves as I wax lyrical about my latest obsession? Will Richard leave me for someone who doesn’t sit around in her dressing gown with a ball of wall flung over her shoulder? I mean really, where will it all end??
Ooops. I got carried away there. Do excuse me, this post is clearly nothing more than the exalted ramblings of a convert. But readers, I am sooo excited. It feels nothing short of wonderful to finally understand something that has bewildered me always, and I am truly astounded by the almost meditative act of sitting quietly and just knitting…
I’m off to join Ravelry. Happy Monday Gorgeous.x