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Published: February 24th 2014
I'm on the 8:11 Sheffield to Cleethorpes with my knitting, heading for a long walk along the beach in the East coast sunshine then on for a bag of chips at the Mermaid chippy in front of the sea. The mermaid chip shop was once the ladies waiting room at the station and you can still pick out the old English elegance in the windows but that's about it. Cleethorpes is such a joy with it's old tired British Sea side look, washy paintwork and brilliant sky.
In about 1994, I read Laura Esquivel’s ‘Like Water for Chocolate’
She wrote stories around food and cooking as a means of communication and transferring her emotions to others, through crying into the food and laughing whilst working. I can’t remember the story exactly but I can remember the sentiment, where emotions were passed through cooking for loved ones, in taste and in the passion of cooking. I’ve been thinking about this whilst knitting in front of the wood burner at night with the cat pushing to get on my knee, whilst knitting in Foyle’s Jazz café on Tottenham Court Road, whilst on the tube traveling underground knitting
opposite people staring blankly into devises, and today whilst on the train to Cleethorpes.
Winter sun is blazing through the window, whilst I knit all the way to the seaside. I think of the book I once read and keep knitting.
Knitting has been a passion of mine for many years. And then I stopped - for a while. But now, I once again find it wondrous and in some way fulfilling.
It sounds sad to some people but I am now pouring travel, culture, wonder, the sunshine and sea and wood smoke into my knitting. This winter I have found myself again in an art that started off a creative spirit some 35 years ago. I’m self taught, then my ex mother-in-law refined and helped develop my skill until I was flying. Recently, I’ve been picking through the art fair isle. Now, on the train, I am making up my own design with a thought to make patterns. This one will be called falling leaves.
And look, everywhere there is a note of colour that only a British seaside can have.
So, my small
travel is not just a physical journey but another row in a knitted story.
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