Diary of a Christmas knitter: 42 days to go!

I unearth my knitting list from under two Post-Its and a half-drunk cup of coffee. Oh hell. How on earth am I supposed to get all this done in time for Christmas AND buy turkeys and tinsel and things?

A whole blanket? In your dreams, Mum. I cast on enough stitches for a cushion. She’ll have to make do. It’s Debbie Bliss Cashmerino at least; maybe the luxury yarn will please her enough to make up for it not being a blanket.

I’m knitting frantically this afternoon when Mum pays an unexpected call, letting herself in with her key. “I thought I’d let myself in,” she says cheerily as I hastily sit on the cushion. “Goodness, you could do with hoovering in here! What’s that?” She points at a pink yarn end lying next to my foot, trimmed only moments before off the cushion.

“It’s – a – worm,” I say firmly, thanking God that she’s short-sighted. “I must have walked it in on my shoe.” I hastily put it in the bin next to me while she tells me off for being slatternly and unhygienic. She waits for me to offer her a cup of tea, but as I can’t get up without revealing the cushion-in-progress, I have to take the option of being unmannerly.

Eventually she departs in huffy silence, which grows even more glacial when I don’t get up to see her out.

I feel so awful that I decide to have a glass of the wine left over from doing coq au vin last night. This makes me feel marginally better, and I crack on with the cushion, relaxed.

Ten minutes later, I realise I’ve totally messed up the entrelac. The air turns blue.

Will things prove too much for our poor knitter? Keep an eye out for her next diary entry, coming soon!