I have a dream: I dream of a blanket that doesn’t lure me into buying it by looking all fuzzy and cuddly in the store, only to turn into a sweaty, heavy octopus that I have to fight my way out of, gracefully falling off the couch as I go. . . I dream of a blanket that is lacy, but not so feeble that I’m just that little bit too cold for comfort, yet never quite cold enough to actually get off my ass and put on a sweater. . . I dream of a blanket that is so soft that kittens crave it.

Now it’s true, stores do stock such blankets.  They are made of light cashmere and angels’ tears and cost a gazillion dollars, sometimes more.

My theory was as follows: fleece is too heavy, knit is too airy. Therefore, I thought (oh me, and my insistence on thinking), I would beat my own Goldilocks tendencies & make one that was both knit strips and fleece strips:

My knit strips were 15 stitches across & stocking stitch. My fleece strips where thinner. I figured, ‘I don’t need a pattern: some of those crazy crafting type people are so fussy they would even count the rows they knitted or some such nonsense’. . . Oh, how I chuckled in my superiority. . . ‘I’ll just knit the first strip until it feels right, & then I’ll just knit all the other strips to match it’. . .

I like to think of that time as – ‘Before I Realized I Was A Moron‘.

I used one knit strip as a template for the length of the fleece strips, and then just copied them roughly. . . Once I started to sew, it quickly became apparent that whilst the top looked like this,

. . . the bottom looked like this:

. . . I’m still perplexed as to how I managed to get quite so far off: it’s not like the ‘ho-hum, it’s-a-bit-wiggly, but-that-makes-it-uniquely charming’ line could even work here. I swear to god, I held one completed strip against what I was knitting to get the length. I can only assume that gravity shifted at certain times, or that the Earth’s rotation slowed; or I developed temporary length-blindness (a tragic yet thankfully rare condition). As for the fleece strips, I vow— as the Lord is my witness– that I cut them all out at the same time. I actually wondered at one point if the dogs where playing a trick on me; but then I remembered that they don’t have thumbs & their tricks tend to be more Political in nature.

The other tragedy occurred once I’d stopped scratching my head and going ‘but . . . no really, I swear I . . . .’ I thought “Ok Chapple, we can fix this (I like to call myself Chapple in my head, using a stern voice, at difficult times: It makes me feel all British & brave), Just knit these all together and then add bits at the bottom.”

Fine, simple, you’d think. Twice– no joke– twice I was paying so little attention that I sewed one strip to the wrong side, so it was now jagged at both ends & had to be unpicked; and at one point, I had sewn a knitted strip the wrong way round so the knobbly side was showing at the front. . . The noises that came out of me that last time were not human— and if i’d rolled my eyes anymore, I’d have lost a retina.

By the time I’d actually gotten the bloody thing together I’d lost the will to fix the bottom: so now I have a blanket that’s wonderfully soft & the perfect temperature but leaves one foot and half-a-shin exposed to the elements. . . Still, it’s better than falling off the couch.

Please describe the noises that come out of your head at times like these; and if you have a picture, please show it.

Love, Em.