Knitting – Day one

Oh my God! What have I done? It all seemed so straightforward when I was looking at knitting patterns and choosing the colours of the wool. There’s a really nice, long knitted jacket thingy and, on the same pattern, a jumper. My Mum, an avid knitter for as long as I can remember, until a carpal tunnel op curtailed her knitting escapades, has very kindly offered to knit said jacket thingy while I, in a moment of madness, agreed to knit the jumper.

Snag number one; I have only ever knitted baby clothes. A proper, full-size adult’s jumper is a massive step into the unknown, and it’s scary. Way back in my primary school days, I was supposed to be knitting a pair of mittens, during craft lessons I think it was. In fact, I used to take the knitting home and my Mum, bless her heart, would knit a few rows so I could take it back to school having shown a modicum of progress. Yes; I know it’s cheating but the thought of actually knitting those mittens myself, was more than I could cope with. The colour of those mittens has burned itself into my memory like a branding iron, but such was the pain associated with their production, I don’t remember ever having worn them.

When son number one was on the way, I discovered something that was very nearly an obsession for knitting. I blame the hormones. I knitted like a thing possessed; countless little baby-sized jumpers, bootees, hats. When my son arrived, he had more knitted baby clothes than he could ever have worn… but that was a long time ago. It’s a very different story now.

I was still enthusiastic while I was choosing the wool, deciding what size needles to use and so on. Then came the crunch. I had to actually start knitting. To my amazement, I could remember how to do the first part of stocking stitch; a row of plain stitches. I wonder if I can remember how to do perl. I’m about to find out.