Knots

Today

Bought a rather nice pair of trousers at Mulberry yesterday. I tried them on this morning, but first had to remove the labels. This wasn't just a simple tag attached with one of those nasty little plastic things; there were three: a label giving the brand, one with size and price and a little envelope containing a spare button. They all had separate cords and were threaded through a little ribbon which appeared to have no other purpose than to be attached to by labels. (It explains why these clothes are so expensive - the full price of these trousers is £245, reduced to £88 - it's very labour-intensive.)

Anxious not to damage these in case I had to return the trousers as too small, I spent some time carefully disentangling the strings till they all came free.

Over the weekend a similar problem with the lovely emerald pendant Paul had given me; the fine chain had several knots in it. I popped on my specs and lit the lamp and fiddled until it was free.

Quite satisfying.

In My Day

I've always liked unravelling knots. I remember Mamma preparing to do knitting. Wool didn't come in ready-wound balls; it came in hanks which had to be turned into balls. I would sit there with one end of each hank around each wrist while Mamma made the ball. You couldn't lose concentration, either; if your wrists went slack, the whole process was halted. In fact, it was the only thing I ever mastered about knitting.

Mamma also had a "sewing box". This contained reels of thread, needles, lengths of embroidery silks, thimbles, darning mushrooms and the like. For reasons unknown it often became impossibly untidy. Perhaps when the lights were out they all had a party. Perhaps there are little gnomes that creep out and tangle everything up.

On dull days when I wanted to avoid having to go out and play in the cold, I'd take up this box and sort it all out. The reels of thread would be wound back up and the ends tucked into the little nick in the side designed for that purpose. Buttons would be sorted (that is, until Daddy put them all into little cough sweet tins labelled "Bunz - smarl" and other jokey titles - I still had some until recently).Then the coloured scraps of wool. Each would be wound using my elbow and space between thumb and finger. Then, saved till the last, the best. Sorting out the embroidery threads. Mamma used (as I still do when there's any embroidery to be done) stranded cotton which consisted of six threads twisted together. You could choose to use any thickness from one to six threads, the norm being three, and they were always in a hopeless muddle. I would start with one and carefully follow through the twists and turns, the unders and overs, until I had the full length. I'd twist it into a figure of eight, using my thumb and first finger. Then on to the next until there they were, all neatly sorted in colour gradations, ready for use.

I really enjoyed doing it - there was the occasional impossible knot which you just had to cut through - an analogy for life, I guess, or at least how I approach it.

I still have Mamma's darning mushrooms and have used them in anger.