Well apparently it did for me,
news of earthquake
Me, well I was fast asleep but having met up with my folks today and Auntie Barbara and Uncle Werner I was told all about it, even in Warwickshire Auntie Barbara's large mirror hanging on her chimney breast was bouncing up and down and Dad who at the time was watching CSI (how old are you!!) described the rumblings in great and graphic detail.
Us girls, Mum, Auntie Barbara and I escaped to the conservatory to enjoy coffee and chat, whilst the boys were able to engage in their manly conversations in peace. Well actually its the other way around, we got to chat without interruption, you know how it is.. I showed the girls my holiday knitting, they were most impressed.
But when I showed my Dad, well, it was Amazing, he nearly took my knitting to bits, he examined every piece in great detail, studying it at length, looking at seams, decreases, increases, finishings off, testing the rib, looking at the pattern in great detail, he knew what he was looking at. I watched him whilst he was doing this, he was loving it and you know what, I was loving it too.
It was his mother that originally taught me how to knit, it was Him that caused the trouble, on my very first knitting experience with plastic brightly coloured needles and the brightest pink wool you could ever imagine. I had slowly managed to knit about seven rows of a scarf one Sunday evening under the direction of my Grandmother. I galloped home on Monday after school and mum greeted me, I darted into the living room where I had carefully left my knitting and it wasn't there. Mum had followed me, I turned around, in innocent tones "where's me knitting". Mum started to look shifty, even at that age I recognised the signs.. "Well" in a high pitched tone, "your dads been helping you" "helping me?", I replied. "Yes, well helping you" At this point I think my mother dried up and gave me my knitting.... I Howled,.
He had knitted about 12 inches of my scarf, with two huge holes in it each the size of my fist. Mum said that he'd made one mistake and just as he was trying to close up the hole to make my knitting easier he made another.. You have got to laugh, this fellow, my Dad is huge, his hands are enormous, so to knit for several hours with brightly coloured needles and pink wool, well, you only have to admire the knitter within.
tiffany's of manchester - [Any Wintry Afternoon in England (1930) CR Nevinson] I was wandering round Manchester Art Gallery yesterday wondering why I felt so reassured to be there. It...
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