My earliest memories of knitting are so deeply ingrained that they are a part of me. I’ve been a poor sleeper since I was a baby and my mother would sit next to my cot, and in later years – next to my bed, knitting.
The soft click of her needles would eventually lull me to sleep. The clicking of needles makes a song. It still calms me like nothing else can.
I learnt to knit from my mother and grandmother when I was five years old. I’d trail behind them, dangling stitches – which they good-naturedly fixed for me.
My mother knitted the blue dress.
Wishbone Yarn is my Rose Hip Jam. The film industry is my Bread and Butter.
This frustrated Graphic Designer became a Set Decorator by trade, and a knitter and dyer with passion. Somehow it’s in my bones – it’s in my fingers and my blood.
I have spent an inordinate amount of time dreaming about this yarn lark of mine. I wished upon a star, I pulled that lucky wishbone…
Finally the pieces are falling into place.