Be careful what you wish for…
I frequently wish that we lived somewhere colder. Some of this is knit-related — it would be nice not to have people wonder why I need to knit so many jumpers when the temperature only drops below 20 degrees Celcius for maybe a week — but I also really love the cold. Now when I say I love the cold, what I mean is that I love the sort of winters that we had when we lived in Europe – icy cold, but snowy, complemented by decently insulated and centrally heated buildings. So that when you come in, face tingling, you can make yourself a cup of coffee, curl up on the sofa and enjoy looking out at the snow falling while you’re cosy and warm.
Not the cold that we have had here for the past month or so.
The sort of cold that creeps into your bones and stays there. The sort of cold that no amount of knitwear can dispel.
It’s made worse by the fact that our 1940s house was obviously not built for cold weather. In fact, it has often been colder inside than outside — a particular achievement when there’s an icy wind whipping past out there.
I’ve taken to wearing several layers of woollies, planting myself under a blanket on the sofa, and knitting until I can’t feel my fingers anymore, all in the hope that if I outfit everybody in the family in enough lovingly handknit stuff that no one will actually freeze.
I never thought I’d say it, but I can’t wait for spring.
In the meantime, I’ve whipped up a huge squishy cowl in fiery oranges, reds and yellows to keep me toasty warm…
