I’ve been knitting cardigans for the girls. Well, I actually appears to have been knitting large, swamping garments that will fit people into young adulthood, but that’s okay. I knit slow and there is no guarantee I will be done before Fran is ready to get married any way. A few weeks ago I was brought to a halt by the mystery disappearance of one needle. At the time the house was in uproar because our water cylinder had exploded inside, rendering all bath water the colour of the inside of our radiators and at one point squirting mains water out on to the landing at a speed which also managed to soak downstairs too, so the entire contents of the airing cupboard was in the lounge and not remotely conducive to finding beige coloured objects in an already beige house.
To be honest, that’s a whole other blog post 😆
I had also been sorting out the room which is our spare room/office/never managed to become a nursery which had disappeared under a heap of books that hadn’t been put back on shelves. And then there was Max’s 30 years worth of editions of bound Motorsport magazines which needed a home. A separate home from the 30 years worth of UNBOUND ones in the garage or the 30 years worth of ‘turned out the staples were rusted’ at work waiting to be ‘eBayed’. Honestly, and he complains about my stuff. At least I hoard lots of DIFFERENT things. 🙄
Still, eventually we got it all sorted and the cupboard devoured its sheets again and the landing dried out without the ceiling coming down and we could see floor space. And STILL no knitting needle. I even checked down the side of both the sofas for a second time. Still nothing.
There comes a point where you have to invoke Murphy’s Law, so off I went to buy a new pair of size 4.5mm needles. I knitted. I finished the back. And the next day, while searching for her mp3 player, the sofa coughed up my knitting needle after all.
I will not forget this sofa. I will not forget. You are going to the dry cleaners. See how you like them onions.