I didn’t quite tell the whole story when I wrote recently about wanting to return to knitting.
It all came about when son was talking about hand knitted hats and how he was looking at ordering one online. He is a hat man supreme.
Before I knew it, I heard myself say, ‘Sure I could knit you a hat in a few hours.’
The more I was looking at yarns and needles on Irish knitting sites, the more I was convinced that I would be knitting Aran sweaters in no time.
The parcel arrived with a pair of needles and a big ball of chunky wool. I had a pattern at the ready, thanks to all your help.
I sat down at the kitchen table with Puppy Stan eyeing up the ball of wool and my look of mystification.
I had forgotten how to hold the needles, cast on, follow the most basic pattern. A complete blank.
My boasting screamed at me and this felt like the worst own goal of the season, so far.
I picked up the needles and saw them as daggers – I once fell down the stairs as a child and got stabbed in the tummy by a needle in a sock I was using to turn a heel – yes I could turn heels when I was eight but that’s a lifetime ago.
I could hear son’s jaunty footsteps approaching and put on my most confident face. A stitch cast itself on somehow and became 74.
‘Oh you’ve started? , he said picking up the wool to check its texture.
‘Ah yeah, knitting memory, ‘ I said. ‘Just like riding a bike, you never forget. What was that you said the other day about muscle memory?’
It’s taking shape when there’s no one around and memories are flooding back like an unravelling of every stich I every knitted.
Puppy Stan may end up wearing the hat but I did say the first one would be a warm up!