Tangled Yarn

I’m in a tangle.

My mother’s family all seemed to be great (Note 1) As like me, my mother likes to sit, our family found themselves with a wide range of knitted goods.

My cool yeomen, being young we were less than grateful for the steady flow of new and exciting knitwear. Knitted gloves while warm, didn’t lend themselves well to the making of snowballs. We had drawers stuffed with woollen socks that turned droopy after one wearing and would nestle around your ankles unless worn with an elastic loop that made your feet turn blue. There were the woollen vests that remained unworn and mysteriously attacked by invisible moths

.Then of course we have the knitted balaclava. This amazing piece of headgear was first knitted for our brave lads fighting in the Crimea back in 1853. A tradition that continued even up until World War Two. As a kid, I cared not a jot for this tradition. I loathed the balaclava, it itched against my sensitive neck, the wool kept getting in my mouth and it was just too hot! (Note 2) Yes, good yeomen, I was an ungrateful brat!

Yet, this wasn’t the worst part of the knitting fixation. There was the recycling of the wool. We were made to stand with arms out to accept a skein of wool while some elderly female relative would wind it into a ball. The females weren’t worried – they could multi-task. Fidgeting wasn’t a problem – we were bored rigid.

Being the eldest, I was first to discover the escape route. (Note 3) I discovered that gran always had a huge tangle of wool. Instead of having to stand like a lemon, I could sit in a chair and pretend I was untangling it – leaving my younger siblings to hold the skeins! There was another advantage, I could be engrossed in the knots and shut out the gossip. You see, I can stubbornly single task when I want to.

So it is with my blog. I focus in on the my knotted yarns and shut out all of the tags.

Well, Kerry tagged me and told me that I was to grab the nearest book. By that I chose to ignore my work books and an old sports encyclopaedia. So I ended up picking up “The Last Juror” by John Grisham. I turned to page 123 and after several attempts, managed to count out the fifth sentence.

So the answer is ”In your opinion , can Mr. Padgitt receive a fair trial in Ford County?”

Now THAT, my stout yeomen, is the absolute last time I will allow myself to be tagged. From now on, my knotted yarns will get all of my attention.

From 14th June, the industry standard Crozzy Standard has been applied to footnotes.

NOTE 1: This ultimate demonstration of multi-tasking is something that all of the female side of the family seem to be blessed with. On the male side, the skill is non-existent. I can’t even manage to drink a cup of tea while chatting without dribbling it all down myself. Click to return

NOTE 2: I’ve always wondered how soldiers actually managed to fight in woollen gloves and balaclavas. The balaclava would keep slipping over their eyes and muffle their ears. The woollen gloves would mean the couldn’t handle their rifle.Click to return

NOTE 3: The curse of being the eldest is that it means you are not funny and have no sense of humour. Click to return