In the distance, the phone rings and on hearing the disappointment in her voice, Bag slumps, handles falling despondently to each side. Husband is on his way home, but won’t be in time so they can go to knitting club. Baby starts to cry, he’s tired, and in the time it takes to S1KP, their evening plans have completely changed, the weekly highlight replaced by homely normality: Story follows dinner follows bath time. Heavy footsteps on the stair announce the arrival of Daddy, his jacket and rucksack clumsily discarded over Knitting Bag before dashing into the nursery to join the goodnight song with baby.
The muffled sounds of the evening shift reach the hallway: Dinner part II, home tidied and re-set. And then a momentary silence before the television exudes tonight’s entertainment. It’s late, both parents are tired, but there’s still one thing to do. Padded footsteps move erratically through the flat, mutterings under breath growing ever more frustrated until, at last, and with an inpatient sweep of a restless hand, Knitting Bag is found. So easy to knit even a few rows – after all, everything needed is contained within Knitting Bag.
Needles grow as heavy as eyelids and, later than planned - always later than planned - the last row is the last row of the night. Once again, Project nestles down within Knitting Bag and the flat is quiet. In the darkness, cat joins Knitting Bag on the still-warm chair, Bag's felted exterior impervious to her poddling, and Project is well protected from feline attack - this time.