I type this propped up in bed. There may or may not be a plate of toast beside me. I’m at the end of an exhilarating but exhausting week. I was in New York with work and – back up the truck! – never even made it to Mood Fabrics. I did manage to pop into Paron, but left empty handed. Maybe I need to hand in my Sewing Blogger badge.
On the Sunday, I squeezed in a craft fair. Craft is big business in the States. I felt a pang of fondness for the church jumble sales of my youth.
It was an odd time to be travelling. The events in Paris unfolded the night before I set off for Heathrow. One very deserted airport, let me tell you. But it turns out that knitters aren’t yet enemies of the civilised world, so I was allowed to knit on the plane. Just a woman staring at her lap, letting the world slide by, stitch by gradual stitch.
It’s good to be back home. Don’t you find that the best meal after a trip away is toast made in your own toaster? Preferably eaten in bed. And if I sound maudlin, that’s because I am. I’m in a state of suspended animation.
Ella comes home tomorrow…