I have been so proud of my crochet achievements. (You may have noticed.) The other night I sent Millie an email, with photos, very much like my last blog post. She had no idea what I'd been up to, and I thought she'd be pleased to know I'd been working on a way to mend the lovely blankets her granny made. I told her I thought I was nearly there; that I knew the square I'd crocheted didn't look quite like the ones in the blanket, but I reckoned I'd worked out how to make them like her granny, and I figured the next one would be up to the mark.
Millie phoned me last night. 'Thank you for your email,' she said.
'No problem.' I sat back on the sofa, waiting for my due allocation of gratitude and praise.
'Your crochet looks very good,' she said. 'Although Pete says he's not holding his breath for his blanket.'
Such a joker, Millie's husband. I chuckled obligingly.
'The only thing is,' Millie sounded as if she was trying to suppress a laugh, 'you know my granny's blankets?'
'I can tell you why the squares don't look like the one you've made.' Now she could barely get her words out between giggles. 'My granny didn't crochet those blankets. She knitted them.'
I was speechless. I used to knit! How come I didn't realise? Why didn't any of you lot realise either? Or maybe you did, and you were just being tactful...
'You can crochet blankets too,' Millie said kindly. 'I'm sure they'll be very nice.'
I intend to spend this weekend lying in a darkened room with a cold compress on my forehead, in the hope that by Monday my face will have returned to its normal colour. Have a good one, yourselves!