Have you noticed how often we quote from the Bible or Shakespeare or classical poetry without even thinking about it? I’m not a Christian but my education was and it is deeply ingrained in me, as is Shakespeare. If our schools don’t offer the study of these works any more; the reading of Shakespeare; classic poems,like “Daffodils” or “My Last Duchess”; the learning of certain passages to be able to repeat them pretty much word perfect fifty plus years later, what do they learn instead? The Gruffalo? (Nothing against the Gruffalo, it’s my grandson’s favourite story but…) These oh so useful phrases will drop from the language forever. Not that it has anything to do with what I am going to tell you but my mind wandered that way so I took you with me on a little detour.
Anyway, I have a little tale to tell about that which was lost. I hope you will find it mildly amusing, especially as it is at my expense.
Whenever we go away, which is quite often, I have a range of goodies that I take with me to fend off boredom on flights, in airports, on sunbeds and so on. These include my tablet, my headphones – nice, new, big ones that exclude damn near everything else noisewise – some crochet, a drawing kit and maybe my Kindle or a book. I keep crochet supplies for the journey in a little tote bag that I bought from a shop in Rotherham called Grimm. I love this shop.
So I had bought this tasteful little bag and equipped it with spare hooks, unicorn poo stitch markers (obviously!), a thread cutter, darning needles and some wool. (Yarn if you live across the pond.) I love this bag and its contents, so you can imagine my dismay when we arrived at the airport, went into my hand luggage and there it wasn’t.
I’ll admit it, I panicked. Four and a half hours on a plane is bad enough but with nothing to do! Nooooooooo! Well, somehow I survived the journey, listening to an audio book of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, did the transfer to the hotel and frantically unpacked my case, even though I was certain the little lost bag was not in there. I remembered getting it ready, leaving it out on the bed ready to go in my hand luggage. I phoned my daughter who went to the house to see if I had left it there. No. Must have fallen out in the car on the way to the airport, or, worse still, out of the car and now be lying shivering on an inhospitable patch of tarmac. My heart bled.
“It’ll be in the bottom of your wardrobe.” muttered the Loved One. I didn’t deign to reply.
I knew this meant a whole week without crochet and there were balls of wool (yarn) staring accusingly at me, mutely saying “Why did you bring us if you aren’t going to use us?” And then the Loved One remembered that, wherever you go in Spain – we were in Puerto De La Cruz, Tenerife – you can find a Chinese supermarket that sells everything. I mean everything. Air bed, bath plug, silk flowers, nail polish, cutlery, vegetable steamer, socks…. They were bound to have a crochet hook. We looked on Google Maps and got a bit bewildered but there was a place nearby that looked hopeful.
I slept fitfully that night, dreaming of unicorn poo stitch markers and wondering how to say crochet hook in Spanish.
Uno ganchillo de crochet is how you say it in Spanish, by the way. So, fortified by a 19 course breakfast we began our mission.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too far away and the walk was very pleasant, near the sea and through narrow back streets with palm trees and pretty pastel painted houses. At one point, walking down some steps, I rested my hand on a low wall and a lizard ran over my fingers. Damn near had a heart attack, as did the loved One, who was holding my other hand at the time and couldn’t see why I levitated about four inches with a
He, the lizard, not the Loved One, then posed for the camera like a good ‘un. Sorry if the picture is a bit blurred; my hands were still shaking.
We knew when we were at the right place, as you can see from this picture. It’s a lovely warm climate so why someone thought this house needed a crochet blanket I can’t imagine. (Or the tree across the road from our hotel, for that matter.) But the crochet covered house was across from the place we were looking for. Except it wasn’t. Turned out it was a crafts gallery and sold finished products but not the makings.
The lady therein was eager to help, however, and told me, after a lot of arm waving on both our parts, where to find a merceria. (Haberdashery.) By now faint with thirst, the Loved One suggested a brief respite at a local hostelry – those weren’t his exact words but you get the idea – before continuing our mission. Alcohol being anathema to me, I agreed with some reluctance and even accepted a large beer, just to keep him company, obviously.
Somewhat refreshed, we continued our quest and, after a brief detour round the harbour (very pretty but in the shade so rather too cool to hang about), we headed up a narrow street and there it was.
Ola, senora. Buscando uno ganchillo de crochet. Tienes uno por favor?
Now it’s one thing to have practised asking the question. It helps if you then understand the answer. Fortunately, she was only asking what size I needed and when I looked a bit confused (I’m well practised at looking confused.) she smiled and brought me several to choose from. I bought them all. I also bruised my finger when pointing at some stitch markers because I didn’t realise they were behind glass. Doh!
Triumphant and flushed with success we sought and found a nice restaurant, where we had a tuna salad to celebrate. Well, yes, I believe another beer was involved but that’s not the point.
For the rest of the week I made good use of those hooks, making a hat/mitts/scarf set for my granddaughter as a little extra Christmas present. I also made a Christmas star for the lady in the gallery but forgot to take a pic before giving it to her.
When we got home, having looked under the car at two in the morning when we landed, I spent a lot of time looking in odd places around the house, in the hope of finding my little bag of goodies.
“It’ll be in the bottom of your wardrobe.” muttered the Loved One. I still didn’t deign to reply.
I phoned the hotel we had stayed at the night before our journey. Eventually, determined not to repeat the experience, I made up a new new travel kit of hooks and put them in the suitcase ready for our next trip, sighing for my lost unicorn poo stitch markers.
And at last I gave up hope.
Christmas came and went in a blur of family activities and then we were packing for the next trip. Deciding to take different shoes this trip, I delved into the bottom of my wardrobe.
And there it was, smiling up at me from the old case in which I keep my shoes. Bag, hooks, thread cutter and, yes, unicorn poo stitch markers. Oh happy day!
I didn’t tell the Loved One where I found it, of course.
I haven’t given up on the art work, although I have spread my wings a little and done quite a lot of water colour, sometimes with Zentangle, sometimes without. One of the swaps I did was to make a star using two triangle tiles. Well, making the right size/shape triangles was a challenge in itself but I did it – eventually. And i had major difficulty thinking what to do. In the end, I pretty much went for monotangles, maybe with a little embellishment and the end results were reasonably pleasing, thank goodness.
And there hasn’t been a Diva Challenge for a couple of weeks, which I fear means that all is not well at Casa Diva. I hope she and her family are OK but as a very long distance “friend” I don’t want to intrude by enquiring. fingers crossed for them all.
So that’ll be all for now. Off again into the blue quite soon – crochet stuff already packed, including spares!
Until we meet again, be good, world, be good….. ish.