All things woolly

I’m in Wales at a wool fest. ‘Wonderwool’ it’s called, by the lovely River Wye in Builth Wells. We are staying in a village I can’t pronounce nor spell. I have been really excited all week at the prospect of seeing and handling the fibres, talking to stall holders and being in the company of fellow knitters. Even the woman in the village charity shop is a knitter. Though with a strange choice of material: she was knitting with video tape. She told me that it makes splendid glittery and hardwearing shopping bags. Well that’s novel. Most of the people, well women, in the vast hall are very colourful. Differently coloured hair, mad jewellery, long skirts. Lots of young women which is good. And a lot of women who look just like me: grey hair, glasses, jeans. The other guests in the b&b are weavers. They spin in their spare time. Sounds like hard work to me although they claim it is very relaxing. You can buy wool at any stage of the process, from fully grown sheep to balls with labels. Wool from sheep, llamas, rabbits, goats. Every colour under the sun. I bought lots of wool: undyed blue Leicestershire sheep wool, glittery green merino and undyed Aran. It all smells, looks and feels lovely. I also bought giant wooden needles from a young woman whose father makes them for her. I like people’s stories. There are some beautiful garments on sale and of course you can buy the patterns. But I go for simple designs. I have to be able to hold my head up when knitting so that I can chat or watch tv. Or even read the sub-titles on foreign films. Not Welsh ones though. We tried to find a cinema this afternoon but they are few and far between and only seem to show once a day. Never mind. I can start one of my knitting projects.

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