OK, so a while ago, I told you of my sudden passion for all things woolly or, as one of my lovely commentators said, how crochet had got me hooked. Well, a couple of weeks later, I am the proud creator of a crochet blanket.
All right, all right, I know that all of you can already crochet brilliantly and have been able to since you were tots. But still. For me, it’s a big achievement. In fact, it heals a considerable psychic wound. For – and you’re the only people I’ve ever told this, apart from some others – when I was at school, a terribly traumatic thing happened. We had to knit squares for a blanket for ‘deprived’ people in the area. I know, it sounds absurd and just so, so condescending. I don’t know why the school felt it had to play such a lady bountiful role, or why on earth they thought anyone would want a blanket made by snotty schoolchildren. Incidentally, the only ‘deprived’ people we saw in the area were a couple of tramps who hung around outside the station, who would have been much happier with a six-pack of Special Brew any day.
But, misguided though the project was, I was destined not even to take part in it. My squares were considered too horribly misshapen. I just didn’t take to knitting. I found it impossible to count the stitches, and whenever I tried, I found they were multiplying alarmingly, without any obvious help from me. So my squares were actually rectangles, or, sometimes, shamingly, polyhedrons. And the school turned them down.
The tramps, had they seen the horrible lumpy objects I knitted, would no doubt have been thrilled to know they were spared them. But I was rather sad.
So, now, gaze on my crochet squares. Note: they are completely and utterly square! Yay! I’ve come a long way, baby.