It was a beautiful day when I got to Ally Pally on Thursday. I stepped off the train at 10:30 and walked up into the park, along with hundreds of other women, all there for the joy of the Knitting and Stitching show. I started going about five years ago, with my terrific friend Jo and her very badly behaved friend Rachel, so now its become something of a yearly ritual.

The show is partly an exhibition, so colleges and guilds can showcase some of their members’ best work. This year my favourite thing was a piece of knitting, although sadly we weren’t allowed to photograph it. The artist had knitted a five foot by two foot piece of simple plain knit out of hollow clear plastic tubing. The tube had been partly filled with blue dye at intervals, and was hooked up to a power supply so that the dye pulsed around inside the tube and traced out the lines of the ‘wool’. It was a beautiful image of pure craft, both how simple and how complex it is.

We paused for lunch outside, already overheated, and revived ourselves with the wine Jo had hidden in her back pack. Back inside we headed into the main hall, which is where the bulk of the buying joy can be had. This is both enjoyable and frustrating because the crowds are extraordinary, and ladies who craft have well sharpened elbows, and will not give an inch. I hung around trying to get at a button stall for about ten minutes and then lost the will to live.

Good tips for fabric junkies: ‘The shuttle’ is on the far side of the hall under the big window every year, and does a nice line in very cheap fat quarters, as well as bargain plain cotton. Fabrics Galore have a stall about three rows in, and have some fabulous end of line stuff. I have promised myself that I’ll get to the shop in person because they are only two miles away, and somehow I never make it. Photos of goodies will follow :)

Post show I headed back to Jo’s house, where we drank lakes of wine and ended up in an impromptu game of charades with her husband, nephew and two boys. I still think of these two boys as being six and three, because that’s how old they were when I first met them, but alarmingly I need to add ten years and several feet of height to both of them, not to mention several grey hairs to my own head and a little width around my middle…

Ten years also means I’m really not so good at dealing with the hangover anymore, which is interesting when you’re trying to finish off some birthday presents for a party in the evening. More on that tomorrow.

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