I’ve never seen anything like it (the EYF market) – and I’ve even been to a Stitches market in my time.
There were, I think, hundreds of people queuing down the street and around the corner when I arrived at opening time – with dozens more forming up behind me before we all got in. Not that a crowd necessarily makes a good market.
I think I expected the best of Scottish yarn, with a generous admixture from the rest of Britain. It was much more than that. A real I-must-have-died-and-gone-to-heaven experience of beautiful yarns, a very high proportion home-grown from small producers, but another substantial tranche from further afield. Unbelievable. I didn’t even get all the way around.
I had set out with four patterns – the two shawl patterns you gave me, Mary Lou; the Cameo Flower from Knitty; and Carol Feller’s capelet from IK. I spent a great deal of money and bought yarn specifically for each pattern -- from (in no particular order) Old Maiden Aunt, Nature’s Luxury (they’re German), Whistlebare (Northumberland) and Skein Queen. Yarns and patterns will now be carefully stashed together.
That should last the rest of my life without much difficulty, given that I still have the madtosh here for my half-brioche vertically-striped sweater, Whiskey Barrel and Roast Hatch Chillies. And all that madtosh Tannehill about to arrive from CT. Wealth beyond the dreams of avarice.
And I saw Kate Davies who swept me off to the room the organizers had allowed her for sitting down in (very welcome). Tom came in and out, wearing his Macrihanish which looked extremely smart and fit rather well. She introduced him as “my husband” and I thought that perhaps the words were still a bit new and strange on her tongue. He was carrying bin after bin of her new Buachaille yarn to the booth for sale.
Felicity Ford was there, the author of the wonderful “Knitsonik Stranded Colourwork Sourcebook”, getting ready for the class she was about to teach in the afternoon. This all begins to sound a bit like a dream sequence.
Their van had broken down on the motorway earlier in the morning. Bruce, I gather, had been left in charge of it, to deal with the garage.
I doubt if I will achieve Woolly Wormhead tomorrow – there are too many little-things-which-have-got-to-be-done to make it very likely that I can be ready to ring for a taxi by 9:30. I’ll try. I’ll get up early and do as much as can be done by myself. The rest depends on carers – a new one will have to be instructed on the mysteries of my husband’s breakfast and lunch; and someone will have to be here when I nip out to the corner shop.
But even if WW proves impossible, I can (and will) go back to the market for a while. Dangerous, I know…