16 August 2007
I’m in the lift, leaving work. Beside me is someone who works in the legal department – I’ve never spoken to her, don’t remember her name, it’s late, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I want to get home, so I’m doing a 1000-yard stare to avoid conversation.
‘Excuse me,’ she says hesitantly, ‘but are those knitting needles sticking out of your bag?’
A lightning decision is needed. Why is she asking? Is she just making conversation? Secretly deriding knitting, categorising me somehow? Am I about to be sucked into one of those tedious conversations where you have to explain why you knit when the reason is it’s like breathing and you know the other person wouldn’t understand? It’s late, I’m tired…
I decide just to say yes, a neutral yes, one that will let the conversation die because I don’t remember her name, it’s late, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I want to get home.
‘I just wondered because I knit too. What are you knitting?’
Well, hello! And we’re off, talking stitches and socks and bamboo needles and fibres and isn’t it great working on the same block as Tapestry Craft because you can drop in at lunch time but there goes far too much of your disposable income, oh I know, me too, did you see those Vogue books they had, and oh, you know Knitty? yeah, and there’s another great website that I should email you and on and on out of the lift and through the foyer and across the street and on the corner until she noticed she’d missed her train and I’d missed my bus but how about we do a lunchtime stitch’n’bitch sometime and I’ll bring that book in for you tomorrow?
Yeah. I’d like that. Great talking to you, see you tomorrow, bye!
I still don’t know her name though.