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Phil Saul on why a lifelong addiction to yarn can push even the most well-mannered knitter over the edge sometimes – and in the most unlikely places!

I’d like to think I’m a fairly wellmannered person: I say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, hold doors for people, put the neighbours’ bins out when they’re away, never sing the national anthem at full volume in the middle of the library, and generally follow the unwritten social rules that enable all 67 million of us to share this small country without too much aggravation… So far so good, but there’s one area where my behaviour falls short of what might be considered socially acceptable, and it probably won’t surprise you to learn that the reason for my downfall involves knitting..

PICTURE THE SCENE

We're on an ordinary high street in our nearest town. The pavements are busy. It’s probably spitting with rain. Shoppers amble along, or scurry to make the final dash in a nail-biting game of parking-ticketchicken. Everybody is minding their own business. Everybody, that is, except for one wild-haired woman hiding behind large sunglasses who definitely is not minding her own. She's staring over the top of her sunglasses at another woman who is several shops further along the street.

Actually let’s correct that. She’s not staring at the other woman – and wouldn’t be able to tell you a thing about the woman’s appearance if you questioned her later – she’s staring at the woman’s jumper. Staring, frowning, and doing mental calculations about how those carefully placed increases feed into the colourwork motifs of the garment. Also, will you look at the flattering fit of that waist shaping! The innocent jumper-wearer may or may not be aware of this attention. I hope she’s not, but the starer is a bit too mesmerised

by Fair Isle right now to be particularly subtle, plus she’s deluded about how much of her width is successfully hidden behind this lamp post. When the jumper (and, I suppose, the woman wearing it) go into a shop, the starer springs from her hiding place and follows suit. She even joins the queue behind the jumper wearer, just so she can make a few last mental notes about the details of the shoulder shaping. That is one truly inspiring jumper.

“Why doesn’t she just go and talk to the jumper-wearer?” you’re probably thinking. “She’ll doubtless appreciate a compliment, regardless of whether she knitted that jumper or bought it. And it would make you seem so much less like a weirdo.”

And yes, you’d have a point. But speaking as the weirdo in this scenario, I’m not very good at approaching total strangers to enquire about the rate of shoulder slope in their cardigan, or whatever my particular preoccupation is that day.

DON'T LOOK NOW

I know, I know, it’s rude to stare. My parents taught me that. And generally, I obey that unwritten rule. You could hop past my house wearing your second-favourite tutu with an inflatable banana sellotaped to your nose and I’d keep hold of my manners long enough to refrain from giving you more than a moment’s glance.

But if, next time you’re in town, you notice a woman resembling the headshot above this column frowning very intently at your brioche hat, please accept my apologies for this lapse of etiquette. I have no sinister motives whatsoever – I just really, really admire your knitted hat. Tell us your stories over on page 25