The Woolly Hat Knitting Club

by Poppy Dolan

  JP pops his head round the doorway. There’s a tweed flat cap on his head.

  ‘What do you think? Patti brought it, to complete the look. I’m going to start calling out my wares. Cotton mix, two for a pahhhnd!’

  I bite down my smile. ‘You look great. But don’t get carried away and undersell your stock. It’s two for £5, remember? And only because it’s being discontinued.’

  ‘It’s a shame, too. From a nice little British company who were making no-nonsense yarns until they had to wind things up. It’s a jungle out there.’

  I really want to laugh. ‘Out there’ is one of the friendliest customer groups I could ever imagine – crafters. But, yes, times are tough for any business, especially small start-ups. ‘Everything looking OK out front?’

  JP nods and the cap slips over one eye. ‘Oh, bugger.’

  I’m about to leap up and fix it for him when he steps back and says, ‘Patti, my accessories aren’t behaving. Could you lend me a hand?’ And disappears back to the stall.

  When I creep out and admire what the guys have done from a distance, ten minutes later, I am sincerely impressed. What I couldn’t visualize from JP’s description, Patti and Ben have totally brought to life: it really does have the feel of a fruit and veg market stall, complete with real bowls of fruit dotted around the place to blur the lines and give out a fresh, inviting scent of strawberries and lemons. You just want to reach out and help yourself to a handful of squashy, ripe wools in red and green and orange and plum tones. And Patti saved the biggest bit of foam board in our arsenal to write in beautiful hand lettering, A Yarn a Day Keeps the Doctor Away! with JP’s Twitter handle and the hashtag below, in small letters. She’s done the initial letters of each word in that fancy tattoo-style lettering, which gives it just the hint of an edge and means it doesn’t look like a cheesy, inspirational, kitten-in-a tree poster.

  I’m dead impressed. I’m still drinking it all in, struggling to find any criticism or bit of advice I could offer up to make it better, when something nudges my shoulder.

  Ben is holding a wide cardboard tray full of hot drinks.

  ‘I thought it was high time for a brew. Sadly, the guy on the coffee stand hadn’t heard of a macchiato, let alone an “extra shot” so I got you a latte. That one, on the left.’

  I prise it gingerly from its slot. ‘Cheers. Very kind. And thanks for all this, too. I know I’m stretching your favour pretty far here. In fact, I hereby release you from your obligation from close of play.’ I tap the rim of my coffee cup against one in the tray he’s carefully balancing.

  ‘Well,’ he frowns, ‘I’d hardly say I’m obliged as such… I’ve really enjoyed… enjoyed hanging out with JP. He’s my kind of guy. No pretensions, just cool, just himself. I’m happy to be here, favour or no favour. And now I can knit. I can consult with a business, I can plaster a wall and I can knit a square. All bases covered.’

  ‘Can you really plaster a wall?’

  He nods. ‘My uncle is a plasterer. He makes about twice what I do but it’s bloody knackering work.’ He puts on a rough cockney accent: ‘You’ve got ta move quick, ’cause the very air is against yah, drying up what you want to be wet, lad.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘You’re a bag of tricks, Cooper.’

  ‘You know, plastering would be an excellent trade for you – you move fast, you’re strong and you like to earn a lot in one day, am I right?’ His tongue is in his cheek. He knows he’s walking a fine line, but it’s actually pretty funny in this instance.

  ‘I’ll be sure to raise that with my careers consultant in a few weeks’ time, thanks. Though I worry about how I’d pull off overalls as day-to-day work wear.’

  ‘I think you could wear just about anything and make it look great.’ As Ben’s last words leave his mouth he suddenly looks at anything but me, and I can feel an odd sensation creeping up my neck. Like I’m hot and cold at the same time. Must be all this recycled air in the exhibition centre. Or something.

  I laugh lamely and get us back on to solid ground. ‘Not sure JP’s pulling off that cap.’ I point with my cardboard cup. ‘But the sales are starting to roll in.’

  We watch JP give some schmooze to a gaggle of grans who are loading up on baby-soft peach yarns, while Mags puts their purchases into paper bags and Patti doles out change.

  ‘Quite a team you’ve assembled here,’ Ben says.

  ‘I wouldn’t say I’ve assembled them,’ I reply. ‘That would make me Professor X, which I am not cool with. JP knows exactly what he’s doing. I just… facilitate things. But seeing as everything’s ticking along nicely, I might have a look around, scope out the competition.’

  ‘Good idea. I had a quick explore on my way to do the coffee run. There’s an amazing range of stuff here – small purchases, serious big bits of kit over there by the sewing machine displays. Services, too. Someone who’ll turn your family photos into embroidery patterns. And some of the workshops they’re running cover turning your hobby into a business and monetizing an Instagram following. It’s fascinating that it all comes under one industry’s umbrella. Talk about diversifying. Wait. We’re shop talking again, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yup.’

  He points his tray towards the fruit ’n’ yarn stall. ‘Then I’ll let you get on. Or I won’t get taken on as a proper barrow boy at this rate.’

  That hot-and-cold feeling follows me as I walk off in the opposite direction, the coffee not really doing much to even me out. What’s that all about? Maybe I’m still adjusting to seeing Ben not as an irksome colleague but as… a friend, I suppose. Competition, I think. I’ll find our competition.

  * * *

  But the old professional Delilah gets lost pretty quickly and a sillier, less focused Dee is soon trailing from stall to stall, her eyes wide with the very beautiful garments and cushions and jewellery at every turn. Modern designs in blocky, clashing colours; simple and traditional quilts that could grace a rocking chair or a three-piece suite just as happily; cross-stitch patterns that say Bite Me within a border of repeating roses or Death to the Patriarchy with a line of hot-pink skulls underneath. It’s like being in a huge sweet shop with none of the calories but all of the colours and flashes of excitement. There’s a big display of the original Cambridge Satchel company and I stand agog not just at their gorgeous, well-made bags but in awe of their pluck and profit. Plus, I really fancy a little one in cobalt blue. Well, maybe once I have a new job. If I ever have a new job…

  I push the negative away and trundle on to the next company. For a minute I think I’ve caught the stallholder on the hop – there are long poles of wood on the floor, like she’s still erecting her canopy, and she’s bent over them. But with a closer look I realize they’re broom handles. And they… they have cast-on stitches on them. Stitches from the thickest wool I’ve ever seen, like a ship’s rope! I grab a flier from the little patchwork pouffe at the front of her tent.

  GiganKnit: Big Knitting in the Extreme! We make rugs, blankets and all sorts with our uber-chunky wool and a lot of muscle! Come and take a workshop with us today. Info@giganknit.

  ‘Fancy a go?’ The business owner catches my eye and I stumble over my reply.

  ‘I’m not… I don’t really… I’m a total beginner!’ But she’s already gently pulled me by the arm and pushed me down to sit on a squashy leather pouffe.

  ‘Nonsense!’ she trills, pushing a dreadlock out of her eye. ‘This is perfect for beginners. Fewer stitches, at the very least! And you’ll find it so easy to see where you’re going. So, take up the needles, great. And then… yup. Push through and then round. Hey, I think someone’s having me on! You’re a seasoned pro!’

  I blush a little and shake my head. ‘I’m really not. But this is my kind of knitting – fast.’

  She crouches down beside me and I get a wave of peony perfume. ‘Yup. Fast and extreme. Not all knitters are quiet grannies, you know.’ She winks and moves on to another interested-looking party.

  ‘Do you
want me to—?’ I gesture at the knitting and start to stand up.

  But she waves her hands, her silver rings catching the light. ‘No, no. You feel your rhythm, girl. That canary yellow has your name on it, I’d say. See where it takes you.’ And because I know JP is in his element, and I have nowhere else specifically to be, I do. I knit seven rows in the blink of an eye, with an even tension and each stitch suddenly appearing on my needle perfectly, as if by magic. I lay the seven rows on my lap and pass the flat of my hand over their measured, undulating surface. It’s soft but substantial – delicate but strong, and I love that contrast. And I love that I made it. I did. Without blood, sweat, tears or bad language. I am stupidly proud of myself.

  ‘Have I won you over?’ The stallholder approaches her hands held behind her back and a broad grin on her face. ‘We sell starter kits, you know. And I’m doing 10 per cent off, just today…’

  I’m suddenly acutely aware of my purse in my back pocket.

  * * *

  When I do extract myself reluctantly from the extreme knitting, I mooch further along and see even weirder and more wonderful things: a collection of patterns for dog knits, some modelled by two very superior-looking dachshunds trotting about a mini raised catwalk; and a company selling huge reels of a sort of fabric yarn, made from the excess trimmed from big industrial bolts of jersey that make up T-shirts and the like. Because it’s so stretchy, the three-centimetre-wide trimmed strips roll up into a round sausage shape and can be knitted beautifully. And because clothes come in all patterns and colours, so do their fabric yarns. I’m super impressed by how someone has taken what is essentially a waste product and turned it into a desirable one. And, yes, a profitable one. A little bit of crafty business in both senses of the word.

  Just as I’m running out of steam and feeling like I might need to find an obliging panini and maybe stock up on a job lot for the others manning the stall, I get to the last exhibit of the row. Not as flashy, not as buzzing as some of the others maybe. But still intriguing. The display boards are big landscape images of a rural idyll with horses in a little paddock. Funny horses, though. Or not. As I get closer, I can see they’re too furry to be horses – they’re alpacas. Sort of like ponies with perms, I think, as I take in pictures of them standing in neat little rows, their curly fringes almost completely obscuring their vision. Or a giraffe crossed with a sheep. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around and I spot a handwritten sign scrawled on an envelope and propped up against a ‘Knitters Do it With Both Hands’ mug: Loo break. Back in ten!

  So I pick up a few leaflets and start to read them in the huge queue at the coffee shop.

  Sunny Farm is Wales’s oldest Alpaca Farm – started in 1993! We breed and raise Huacaya Alpaca and sell on the fibres to yarn manufacturers in the UK exclusively. Did you know that Alpaca fibre, unlike sheep’s wool, is without lanolin and so is hypoallergenic? With its naturally soft, durable texture it’s the perfect yarn of choice for today’s knitter – and it’s even warmer than sheep’s wool! At Sunny Farm we are so proud of our lovely ladies that we want you to come and meet them, at our B&B and guesthouse, open year-round for short breaks and school visits. See our website for more details: www.visitsunnyfarm.co.uk

  As my panini order is cooking, I put a new task in my iPhone app: Possible link-up with Alpaca Farm? We could get JP there for a blog post and cross-promotion?

  He has always said he wants to have a go at spinning fibres into yarns and God knows we could all do with a break with everything that’s been going on. A country retreat with some extra PR boosting could be just the ticket. I add to my To Do list: Also contact Extreme Knitting lady, dog knits company and fabric company for possible visits/cross-promos. Specialist companies like these may have small, dedicated audiences, but put them together and they amplify into one big, big community. So if we could get JP’s audience to look at Extreme Knitting and vice versa through some good-quality blog content, everyone’s a winner. To paraphrase Mark Zuckerberg, the communities are out there. You don’t create them, you just give them a space to meet. And if it made him gazillions, it can’t be wrong.

  Christ! Communities – meeting. The big reveal! I look at my watch – how is it ten to three already? I’d better leg it with my bulk load of brie-and-cranberry panini and muscle my way into a front-row spot. JP will kill me if I miss the big moment.

  But the stand is already ten bodies deep by the time I get there. It’ll have to be a back-door job. I push my way along and reach the little back room, using my elbows to wade through the really keen craft nerds who are gazing at our stall in near-hysterical wonder. The back room will give me the perfect view and a really good angle for ‘behind the scenes’ blog photos. Just in time – JP is clearing his voice and taking a sip of water, care of Patti holding up a glass with a straw. But what is he wearing? That’s not the shirt he was in this morning…

  ‘OK, people!’ His voice calls out confidently over the heads of the predominantly female crowd. It suddenly hits me that it’s bonkers how JP can happily talk to a whole hoard of women at once and stay on topic, but put him one on one with a lady he fancies and he’s a bit of a bumbling idiot. And I say that with love.

  The crowd giggle here and there but then obediently hush.

  ‘Thanks for coming! Thanks for answering my call. No, don’t worry, I’m not starting a yarn cult where we all live in the woods and only eat what we can hunt and wear what we can knit.’ Someone lets out a throaty, bosom-heaving sigh from the back. ‘But I am starting a collective of sorts. You see, my crafty passions bring me real happiness, a real feeling of calm in a bat-shit crazy world. But most of the time, I’m just doing it for myself, to satisfy my needs.’ Someone laughs, and I wonder if those two mum mates from the hat class are back. ‘Now, I know there are people who could seriously benefit from my favourite thing in the world, in a very practical way. So I want you guys to know, too. Ahem.’ He clears his throat and Ben makes a drum-roll noise by slapping his hands in a blur on the desk. Patti steps forward and pulls off the dark blue shirt JP has been wearing. I swear this morning I helped him into a checked flannel one.

  The crowd gasps as one, and I am taken along by it. What the Dickens?!

  Under his shirt, JP has a really clingy white vest, stretched so tight you can pretty much see his nipples. And written on the vest in thick black marker is:

  WOOLLY HATS FOR ALL!

  COULD YOU KNIT FOR

  A PREMATURE BABY?

  Written along his casts in the same chunky scrawl is #AboutaKnit #165aday, a hashtag for each wrist.

  Good grief. Flashes of camera phones twinkle around the stall like the Christmas lights being switched on at Oxford Street.

  ‘A good friend of mine had a little boy, born four weeks early. And in all that stress and worry, she was struggling to find clothes just the right size. What can we do, people? We can make clothes in any goddamn size we want, with our hands, while we watch telly. So I’m asking you, could you knit for a premature baby?’

  A few hands go up.

  ‘Could you?!’ He raises his voice to more of a bellow and the crowd twig and shout back, ‘Yes! Yes!’

  JP beams into his audience. ‘That’s what I thought! But I don’t want you to knit one hat. I want you to knit 10. Or 20! There are 165 premature babies born every day in this country alone. That’s crazy. So I want us to take care of just one birthday. 165 hats. We can do this! I want you to knit like you’ve never knitted before – the patterns on my site, as are yarn guidelines. These little beanies need to be machine washable at high temperatures, that’s important. You’ll also find lots of video how-tos with our new friend Beginner Ben. Say hello, Beginner Ben!’ Ben waves, the crowd go ahhhhhh as one, and he smiles rigidly at JP with ‘I’m going to kill you’ eyes. ‘You’ll recognize Beginner Ben as my new recruit on my vlog and he’s popping his knitting cherry with us, one step at a time.’ A wolf whistle sends the crowd into a buzz of giggles. ‘In fact, I had a word with one of my
friends here at CraftCon, who just so happens to have a spare demo slot this afternoon,’ Ben’s smile drops and his face goes white, ‘and Beginner Ben and I will be doing a Manly Knits 101 in an hour’s time on the main stage!’

  The audience whoop and clap but Ben remains absolutely static.

  ‘Anyway, back to the real deal. We’re going to distribute these hats to babies in the South-East, though local health visitors. If you can knit the hats, we can get them to the mums who need them. They’ll feel good and you’ll feel good, what’s not to like? Take pics as you go, spread the word with the hashtags and to all your stitch-and-bitch groups. If anyone wants to yarn bomb in the name of our cause I can’t stop you.’ JP gives a butter-wouldn’t-melt wink. ‘In two weeks, I’m going to host a knitathon, a whole day dedicated to mini hat-knitting so we can reach that target. Or better – smash it! I need you to tune in while your own needles are clicking and make this the biggest viral thing since… since a cat played the piano. Let’s make sure everyone in our crafty world knows what an important issue this is!’ A whoop goes up from the crowd.

  ‘So that’s my news, guys. If you want to get a head start, I have some lovely cotton-mix double knits that would be a good fit, right here for a fiver for two. You could probably do at least six hats with that! Imagine!’