Let me get things out of the way by admitting this: I am an addict. Not for recreational drugs, not for alcohol, but for… wool. Hey, I didn’t become a needle felting artist for nothing. There is something to be said about the cosiness of a bundle of yarn on your hands, the texture, even the smell, which I love in all its sheepiness (what an appropriate non-existent word).
That’s why I’ll also have to confess I’m much more excited about the two balls of yarn I recently purchased at John Lewis than I am about this New Year thing. I mean, let’s prioritise our lives, shall we? I don’t know what the next 365 days will bring me, but I can certainly be sure I’ll be getting something out of yarn – hopefully an infinity scarf, and not a whole lot of frustration. But still.
For me, buying yarn is a little like romancing an attractive man – first there’s the careful approach, a little shy smile (‘is this going to be the one? The yarn that’s going to lead me into that glorious project?’) and finally the shameless grab-and-take-it-home-after-squishing-it bit (after paying for it, of course). I am nothing if not a romantic gal.
(Disclaimer: yes, I do this with strange balls of yarn; no, I don’t do this with strange men. Or men I know, for that matter. Just saying.)
This whole mess can be blamed on Debbie from The Crimson Rabbit – she asked me, a couple months ago, if I’d be her Beta Tester for a gorgeous new pattern she created. I was flattered, until I realised she was looking for someone who wasn’t very good, to see if they would fare well (I’m joking, she wanted a beginner, and I was indeed flattered). I was a bit afraid at first, but like any good addict, I promised I’d only do a little bit to help Debbie out and it all spiralled out of control, with knitting happening at two in the morning when I had to wake up early the next – hah, the same – day. I couldn’t put it down until it was finished.
You’ll be happy to know Mum was quite happy with it and even wore it two days in a row. I’m quite chuffed, and wasn’t put down by her comment on how odd it was that her daughter would be clever enough to follow a knitting pattern (she did say that. Ah, motherly love.)
So. Ahem. Is it terribly naughty of me, then, to wish I could take this gorgeous grey-and-black chunky yarn with me for the New Year party at my friends’ house tonight and just knit away, oblivious to the people around me? I could even growl if someone was foolish enough to attempt any form of social interaction with me. Tempting…
Oh, right, I almost forgot: happy new year.