The mystery of the missing sock and an apology

At the almost (because I am going to attempt to do so, probably in a future post since I have knitting to finish right now) indescribably wonderful I Knit 2008 a woman wearing an exquisitely constructed jacket-cardigan asked, on behalf of her daughter, for the url of the blog. Because, she said, her daughter had noticed during the talk by Yarn Harlot (aka Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, humourist, Canadian, knitter, blogger, author of humourous books about knitting (should that be “humouress”?) and giver of the keynote address) that I had “laughed at all the best bits”. And when YH (aka S P-M) had asked the audience who had a blog I’d raised my half-knitted sock and the hand holding it.

So this is the apology. It’s a blog, yes, but there is as yet very little knitting and no humour at all. I’m sorry about that, but can I say that, should you ever visit to read this expression of gratitude, the soubriquet of one who “laughed at the best bits” is one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about me and I shall treasure it always.

(Confession: I’ve never really read Yarn Harlot‘s blog – no idea why. She’s funny. Very, very funny. Also, while in confessional mode, the unsolicited testimonial to my highly developed sense of humour could be the result of the fact that I have a laugh like a fishwife, like Sid James at a dirty joke convention, a laugh which might, I fear, drown out any more refined gurgles of amusement let alone anything as rarified as a polite titter.)

So. The sock. Not this sock – YH asked for those who had taken pictures of their knitting in public places to raise their hands. But of course! where else should one photograph one’s zigzagetty sock but by a zigzagetty public artwork?

sock and crack

No, not that sock, which was completed and paired. The sock that is missing is this sock:

trying it on for size

which since having its picture taken (not next to a controversial artwork unless you include my right foot in that category) has been completed and has half a sibling to be going on with. Which is also missing.

To cut a long story short: I took these socks (one finished, one on the needles) with me to Yorkshire where I delivered these socks:

lovers' socks

and where the weather was so (unnaturally) warm that the idea of handling a yarn, even one as superior as the Cherry Tree Hill Sockittome (colourway Peacock), filled my heart with unease and caused my hands to perspire even more freely than they had been doing already. So I shoved them away, somewhere.

But where? because since the climate cooled I’ve been utterly unable to find them. I even e-mailed the B&B where I stayed in Yorkshire… had I left my knitting in some overlooked nook? but no, the answer came, there are no orphaned socks here.

Which can only mean one thing. They are here, in this house. This house the entire contents of which I have already ransacked not once but twice, wailing, keening, calling my missing socks. The little bastards are staying schtum.

The worst thing is that it’s not just the socks. It’s my gorgeous-perfect-small-project-arm-hanging knitting bag AND my gorgeous-perfect-box-of-knitting-essentials which fitted snugly inside the aforementioned knitting bag and contained EVERYTHING – cable needles, pins, safety pins, row-counter, tape measure, stitch markers, crochet hook (for retrieving – god forbid but it does occasionally happen – dropped stitches), pencil, tapestry needle etc etc etc.

And the other worst thing – because they’re pretty much equally bad – is that the needles on which the socks were being knitted were my peerless 2.25mm rosewood lantern moon Sox Stix which cost as much as two large g&ts in a central London pub which, in case you don’t know, is an unfeasibly huge sum of money.

And the third worst thing is that I remember, very clearly, PUTTING the knitting bag containing the socks and the precious things SOMEWHERE… and thinking “you know you won’t remember where you’ve put this” and thinking “I don’t care, it’s so hot and sweaty the very thought of knitting makes me feel quite ill” and thinking “but I will remember anyway because I’m thinking that I won’t so of course I shall”. And of course, of course, I shan’t, I can’t, I haven’t. I can’t remember whether I was in Yorkshire, on the train coming back (should I phone the railway company lost property?) or here in the not-entirely-organised home. And it’s driving me completely INSANE. (Or madder than previously.)

For non-knitters the only comparison I can give is the misplacement of a book which you’ve started reading, really got into, are enjoying hugely and suddenly… it’s gone. No. Other. Book. Will. Do. Not one word. And in this case not one stitch. In the case of a book it’s pretty easily remedied – get another copy from a shop/library/friend, find the page where you left off and just carry on. With a 75% completed pair of socks there is no such easy solution.


2 Replies to “The mystery of the missing sock and an apology”

  1. Far be it for me to argue with your recollection, but I believe the soubriquet of one who “laughed at the best bits” is in fact incorrect.

    I’m pretty sure what she actually said was that “you had the most amazing laugh”.

    Which you do.

  2. Hot damn! Is that right? I must be losing my marbles as well as my hearing. Probably because I laugh so loudly.

    I’m rather sad to have to give up “she laughed at the best bits” as the epitaph of choice for my gravestone but since I’m not planning to have a gravestone it is perforce a matter of small regret.

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