All the knitting groups that I have dropped in on in the last few weeks have been wonderful. Spangly and warm. Supportive energy, full of wit and humourous goading. But in, clack clack, clack clack, an anecdote, clack clack, thrust, clack, parry, clack, the punchline, fall around laughing, clack clack, clackety clack. A real treat.
It’s not just up-close social either, through the internet knitters have become an international energy field. Mainly coming via the USA where there are a lot of websites offering free patterns, chat rooms, beginners advice and youtube videos of different techniques and stitches etc. The same energy exists online as it does in the backroom of pubs. Fantastic. For starters check out www.ravelry.com or Purl, my local woolshop, www.purl-brighton.co.uk
I know it’s a sewing thing, but today I bought a tape measure for my pencil case. My tool of choice for the next few knitting weeks.
Whilst I was in the Fabric shop, I couldn’t help drifting off into the sensual joys of the place. It’s the kind of place you don’t mind queuing because there is always something to look at and people always ask the staff mind boggling questions. The gentleman ahead of me in the queue looked out of place, well cut suit, groomed silver beard and solicitor spectacles. Portly chap, who asked for a metre of wide elastic for his pajama bottoms but then asked if they would take him on as an assistant in the shop as he’d always loved the place, he was willing to work there for nothing! If he hadn’t said it, I would have.
FICTION/MEMOIR/TRAVEL is the convenient catch all classification that the publishers have placed on the back cover of all the novels by the German writer W.G. Sebald. In several of his books Sebald includes snippets of found photographs, obscure diagrams, snaps that he has taken himself (in black and white) and old postcards that he has picked up on his various excursions. These pictures don’t help with the clarity of the writing at all, but they add another layer to the story he is telling, an authentication.
Have the photographs been created to justify the fiction? Is what Sebald is describing really what you are looking at in the badly creased image or is he making it up?
The pressure to get any postal dispute settled quickly. The standard rabid headlines of credit card misery and delayed pensioners, the horror financial reports of massive losses and bloated pension funds. The media reaction has made me realise how much of a core to all forms of communication the postal system is. It can be presented as a twee old fashioned concept but when the chips are down control of the Royal Mail nee Post Office is still a critical part of contemporary life.
Provoked by another threat of postal privatisation as floated by Government earlier this year. I wanted to show support, humorous and heartfelt, for the whole system of postage and letter writing in an era of fast, and flimsy, technology. Not sentimental, but something that said “It’s a complex system that works OK. It doesn’t need to be mucked around with or sacrificed to accountancy fashion.”
As a daily, on-street symbol of this struggle, pillar boxes look increasingly fragile and vulnerable. I want to put my arms around them. Hug them dearly, they are my contact with friends and family. I wanted to make sure that they survive through the cold winds of winter, metaphoric and real. Post boxes, and by extension the postal workers need a small sign to show that their daily labours are acknowledged and appreciated. To show that they are loved. A warm statement that causes no damage. A cosy demonstration of thanks.
