My scarf dream ends in tears
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Crochet or not to crochet, that is the question. I’ve dug out the old crochet hook now that the cooler months are upon us. Some of you might remember my first foray into crocheting back in 2018 when I, with the help of Maree from Skeinz, attempted my first granny square to make in to a blanket. I was terrible at it but loved the methodical process.
So it was this inner urge and a few hints that meant four years later I got crochet hooks for Mother’s Day.
I had visions of me gallivanting around town with a beautiful crocheted scarf around my neck.
In this dream, strangers would stop and ask me where I got such a beautiful creation and I would say ‘What, this scarf? Oh, I made it myself’ as I walked off secretly smug in my own cleverness and the warmth of the wool.
But here’s where it starts to unravel. When you are choosing yarn for your special project, it’s very difficult.
You can’t exactly open a whole ball and wrap it around your neck to see if it will be comfortable or not. So short of squeezing all the yarn in the shop for itchiness, I caressed quite a few, and settled on a big ply that felt very nice to the touch.
My son also learnt to knit at the same time thanks to YouTube and we became that crafty family, whiling away the hours in front of the fire. I loved it.
When it was finished, I was so excited. The colour was a lovely duck egg glacier blue, and for my first attempt I thought it looked pretty good.
Saturday morning rugby rolled around and I donned my Kate Middletonesque boots and wrapped my beautiful handmade scarf around my neck.
It took a second or two for the joy to turn to tears, but there was no denying it. I had made the most uncomfortable, itchy scarf known to man, or woman as the case may be. It was unwearable. I was gutted.
Not to worry, said my kids, and, nek minnit, my itchy neck scarf had found its true calling — a belt to be worn around your waist when you’re getting pulled along by your brother on your skateboard.
Practical, sure, but I couldn’t imagine anyone stopping to ask my kids where they got that ratty, old, wonky-looking knitted belt from.