I’m sure I was far too young to knit at 7 but I do recall receiving a set of miniature needles and some fluffy air force blue wool in a Christmas “set” from an auntie. There began my relationship with the clickety clack of knitting. At first all I did was to whizz up and down, up and down, or rather along and across and back again. I didn’t really progress from there and I never made anything that I could give an accurate name to. I knew it was possible to make a disco outfit for a sindy doll or a safari suit, because my grandma was always knitting me dolls clothes. The shop bought clothes were far more exciting, but I gratefully received what I was given safe in the knowledge that my sindy dolls were the warmest in town. I also knew that by the time I’d ever finish an outfit for a doll I’d have grown out of playing with dolls.
My subsequent, and probably last ever encounter with knitting was 9 years later when I was 16. The wool was yellow, a bright canary colour and the needles were quite thick. In order to impress my new boyfriend, or rather his mum, I thought I would ask her to teach me to knit. She was a great knitter, she could make anything and not only that, she could multi-task, knit, watch T.V. and talk at the same time. Amazing! Perhaps she was trying to impress me? I can’t imagine what I was thinking. I didn’t really want to knit, I just thought it’d be a good way to pretend I was a talented girlfriend and a great addition to any family. I began with a simple jumper (!) and it looked so easy. Yeah right! My cunning plan sadly backfired. The knitting pattern confused me, constantly dropping stitches simply highlighted my inadequacies as I could neither turn a corner nor increase or decrease stitches. Well, I could both increase and decrease, but not according to the instructions on the pattern. I failed miserably and ended up regularly asking for her assistance to get me back on track, pick up my stitch or “please, just do the next few rows?” I was hoping she’d offer to finish it for me so I didn’t have to look a complete failure. And she did – probably took her a couple of hours. I was suitably impressed.
I could never describe what I did as “knitting”. Technically it was knitting, I probably looked like I was, but surely you’re only a qualified “knitter” when you’ve knitted something and I never had the satisfaction of completing anything. The moral of the story. Never take up a “hobby” to impress anyone but yourself! That way if you’re not impressed you don’t have to wear it!