HUMOUR: Amanda Blair is in a tangle over knitting

Untangling the art of knitting presented a new challenge for this columnist during lockdown.

Iwas late getting this column written. Really late – like, editor-slightly-annoyed-at-me late. “I’m sorry,” I said, “but I have a bit on.” Well, not as much as I’d like on, but as soon as I work out what ‘K2tog at beg of next and every alt row then P1 K2 from * to end. K15, turn, knit in purl then off in rib’ means,

I’ll have more on. More on my knitting needles, that is.

I’ve written before about my childhood af nity for sheep. My grandmother Dorothy loved to knit, so I was presented with itchy jumper after itchy jumper, worn dutifully (and compulsorily) to family functions. She never stopped knitting, doing it in the car, in front of the telly, at the football and on public transport. Everywhere she went she’d carry her knitting bag.

I didn’t appreciate these hand knits till my teen years, when large woollen jumpers were all the rage. I was the envy of my peers – particularly in 1982, when Nan made me a set, comprising jumper, mittens, scarf, beanie and leg-warmers, which added a certain je ne sais quoi to my already chunky legs.

Nan tried to hand down her skills, but I showed no interest. I passed off her pastime as mere folly; something she did between doing the laundry, preparing crock pots of apricot chicken and checking the Saturday lotto draw against her one indulgence – the weekly quick pick.

Besides, women of our generation didn’t have time to sit down and knit, did we? Nay, we were too busy juggling jobs, sports schedules and family matters. As if we’d have time to sit down to knit and natter. We had too much “important stuff” on to consider participation in handicrafts.

But this was all B.C. (Before COVID). Before we discovered a new way of living; before we decided our schedules B.C. were INSANE. Despite the fact we’ve all spent too much time with our families, trying to bake bread, cheating at board games and pretending we don’t mind the slurpy noise they make when they eat, we actually prefer this new, quieter life.

I was fortunate that in my city, wool shops seem to be classi ed an “essential service”, so I could begin my textile trek without delay. I’d always thought knitting would be an easy way to pass the time. Nan was no Mensa member – surely I’d be purling like a professional, clacking up cable cardis in no time at all.

I have never been more wrong in my life. Knitting is not for Nancys, it’s hardcore! Underneath the mohair motif jumpers, grey hair and gentle smiles of Australia’s knitters are women with nerves of steel. How else would they have the mettle to get through anything more complicated than a garter stitch?

My rst attempt at a scarf was holy – and not in a Jesus kind of way. I dropped stitches and didn’t know where to nd them. I tried to pass my style off as a relatively unknown chapter of the knitting fraternity, “interpretive”. “You know, like interpretive dance, where you just feel the music and let yourself go?” I said. “Well, that’s what I do with eece.”

Nobody bought it. They also said that nobody would wear my “holy” scarf as it “looks like a pot scrubber” or was “a web made by a visionimpaired spider with three legs”. I ignored their gibes and continued hoping that practice would make perfect, or at least passable.

So, I’ll continue crafting my craft. I’m determined to push myself to the limit of physical exhaustion in order to reach my own Mount Midoriyama. It’s not Ninja Warrior, ladies, it’s Needle Warrior, and this time I’m playing to win. AWW