The Things We Do For Love


Like knitting in the rain and the snow where you know where to go and you feel like a part of you will die…if you don’t get this stitch right!

I had a terrific wash of inspiration at our last gathering in preparation for the impending Yarn Bomb. It calls for a flourish of national pride as well as a little vanity for talent. To accomplish this,  I pulled out a vintage book given to me by my beautiful friend who inherited it from her mother.


The pages are slipping into sepia. However, the magnificent knowledge within these delicate pages feels exciting and new. There are directions within that feel rather archaic. But I think this lends to a rather legendary feeling of belonging to an ancient society.


I have been mentally skiving for days at work thinking about the patterns in Helen ‘s mum’s book of stitches. I have come to regard it as a kind of Knitters Grimoire. A Crocheters Book Of Shadows. It has me spellbound. It is almost as if I have been ruminating on an unrequited love!

I can see myself— later and possibly years from now— sitting at a desk like an old monk copying out these beautiful stitches with venerable titles: Harris Tweed Stitch, The Spindle, Pennant Pattern, Hatchets… all in an effort to keep the art alive! I can see passing it along within each generation of our little Knitterati circle.

But today, my only wish is to labour on with Interwoven Cables in delicious scarlet. This will be the vertical strip on the England flag. I will take short energy breaks (my Bounty chocolate and a cup of black coffee). I will relish this rainy day taken for myself to be with my knitting. My craft. My old love.