The morning ends and, with our cake-appetites sated, we all dash down stairs to appease our yarn cravings, vouchers burning holes in our bags. There is, however, one catch: The voucher isn’t for 100% off. Yes, I know, they rarely are but in the heat of the moment, it’s a fact sometimes easy to forget. Well, easy for me to forget. Or maybe not today.
I hang back while Knitting Friend and others search pattern books. Friend spots a pattern that she thinks I’ll like. She’s right: A gorgeous tank top, knit in 100% cotton in an intricate, yet stunning mixture of cables and diamonds. I desperately try to find fault with the design and eventually, with a mixture of relief and regret, replace the book back on the shelf. But not out of my mind. We move on.
Knitting Friend and I have been admiring the same shrug. I’m wearing a shrug but its not the same so it doesn’t count. We pounce on the pattern and, while I study the details, Friend studies the yarn. Initially she selects a light blue yarn. It’s a lovely shade and compliments her well. Unusually, it’s not the shade I’d pick as I’ve spotted a stunning darker blue, almost purple. Which leaves open the possibility of Friend and I both knitting the same pattern without producing exactly the same garment. But this doesn’t negate the issue of me already having a shrug. If not two. And then Friend does the best thing ever: She rethinks her choice of colour and opts for the darker shade. An excellent solution, not only for her own colouring but the versatility of the finished garment, “trans-seasonal” I believe is the term. And so, in a matter of seconds, she saves me: Saves me from a beautiful, but unnecessary yarn purchase. But this doesn’t completely solve the problem as my voucher is still unspent and expires in only two days. Oh the pressure. The anguish. My stomach turns and I’m not sure whether it’s the unfulfilled desire to spend my yarn pennies or that the decaf coffee I ordered isn’t quite as caffeine-free as I hoped.
We part, Friend with the glow of a knitter delighted with New Project, me with the desire to lie down in a dark room. Not good. Home to the boys and I take the opportunity to review Stash in the hope that it’ll help quench my thirst for a suitable new project. I rediscover my small cashmere mountain and study the proposed, accompanying pattern. It’s still lovely but not what I want right now: Its beauty is in its simplicity and I fancy something a bit more challenging.
We end the afternoon in our favourite department store, sharing a very early supper before Knitting Club. Knitting Club Friend arrives, marvelling at the spectacle of two reasonably intelligent adults trying to coax a toddler with food. It’s been one of those days. Consultation with the crepe chef allows us to head down to the yarn department for the 25 mins before she stops cooking. Attempt Two at relinquishing yarn voucher. The boys depart, and we browse the patterns. I show Knitting Club Friend the pattern for tank top and she can see its merits. We view the yarn and there are only eight of the required nine balls. Is it a sign? Helpful sales assistant finds the missing ball. So maybe not a sign? I don’t get given a voucher every day so I use the excuse to stock-up on baby-related necessities (i.e. fresh patterns and yarn). Purchases made, and voucher finally surrendered, we head back up for pancakes and knitting. But all is not right. I am fretting about my purchases. Fretting big time. I already have a tank top. It took ages to knit and I still love it. Do I really need a new one? When I have yarn for another garment arriving in the next week or so. When, next season, I’ll have to, just have to, knit something new for winter. When I have a stash of other garments-to-be still in their ball / skein form. Something kicks in, logic? Sense? I’m not quite sure, it’s an unfamiliar feeling. But I act upon it, curtail knitting and return the yarn and pattern. (Not all of it, after all baby needs clothes.) And I leave, happy and voucher-less. But only having knit three rows of Rose’s collar. Three rows sixteen cm does not make. I am behind. Way behind. Deadline again looks shaky. Oh dear, silly Katherine.