I seem to have forgotten how to knit.
I am sitting here, listening to Bobby Short, with a coffee that went wrong* and a half knitted scarf sits beside me, in a pea green, unravelled, and not knowing how to put itself back together again way.
I felt so completely warm** hearted sitting earlier this year in Blackwells cafe, whilst studious students read books with complex titles and tapped away fervently at their laptops, knitting away on my circular needles,
for the first time ever.
Up until that perfect moment, knitting had seemed as complex to me as all those books being flicked through all around me.
It almost seemed like Maths. Ugh. Stomach roll. I'll never be able to catch onto percentages. I have no idea why not.
My parents used to send me to after school maths classes when I was at primary school. I remember, tears, orange squash and biscuits. A brain that really did not want to understand. Poor brain- it's ok.
Back in the cafe, my fingers sped through rows and rows of pea green knit, my needles so thick and satisfying (!?!)
{apologies}
mmmm.
BUT NOW the knitting sits there, sadly, with puppy eyes...slightly moaning...whimpering. If it had a tail, it would be curled up beneath itself. Not a snatch of a wag.
Boo.
SO, even though I have one hundred other things to do this week, which should really be done first, I am going back to the big knit.
I have to find a kind person to help, and I know just where.
There is an ace shop in Jericho, called ' Port Meadow'.
Why is it called this?
Because there is a meadow called Port Meadow (capitals) only a few seconds away. OK. Minutes.
It was from here, where I learnt to overcome my knitting allergy. The shop sells lots of handmade-ish types of things, Artisan gems. At a price.
But we must embrace the high price we are to pay for gorgeous, soul crafted pieces. With all this cheap import, it's *the* time to steer clear of factory fractions and invest in a woolen vest made by a lovely lady/chap who lives a few miles down the road from you, dyes their own wool, from their own sheep. Sweated over the process and lovingly knitted this piece you will PASS ONTO YOUR CHILDREN for gods sake.
YES!
How much more satisfying is it, to wear the woolen vest made by the passionate Artisan- (finely honed skills, a lifetime of love going into that vest), than the vest made by a machine called 002DF-7 which makes a whole lot of noise and mess, controlled by a lovely lady who would much rather be at home with the children, but instead she has been on a 12 hour shift, and can hardly stay awake, as vest after vest after vest is spewed from the hatch of 002DF-7.
(Ok, I have never visited one of these factories, and I know that lovely lady needs to feed her children, so has to make vests for the big company who work her to the bone, but I'm yet to still get my head round all that. What are her working conditions like? How do her employers look after her? Does she get paid a fair wage? etc etc...)
ANWYAY
the point was about the Artisan Vest...
which takes me back to....PORT MEADOW, the shop, where I learnt knitting, which is were I am going to go to today (after GARY has picked up the dishwasher) to ask someone to help me RE KNIT.
WOW.
What a draw out tale. Sorry about that. I had some coffee. Oh, I already said about that.
I was actually going to wax lyrical today about the blue sky, the Autumn leaves. Oh MY, it looks so glorious outside. I do have to sincerely, truly, strongly push upon you Bobby Short for passionate autumn Sunday listening.
I am about to ORGASM.
not really.
x
*Not enough espresso in the coffee pot. Soya milk went funny even though heated. WHAT to do?
**smug
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