A textured sweatered guy sits silouhetted by light coming through a misted up window with a glimpse of the sea in the distance. A weathered wooden table groans with delicious festive food and foliage, dimly lit with the glow of a couple of candles. A handily nearby piano hints at the promise of a tinkle later on. Warm, wholesome, with a touch of whimsy on account of the effortlessness of it all.
It’s the Christmas clothing catalogue season, and this year’s crop are really working their seasonal magic – momentarily transporting me to a transformed version of myself without that bit of toothpaste on my front, considerably slimmer, with hair that does what it’s told. In that outfit, I’d be nonchalantly leaning against an apple tree surrounded by windfalls, or crunching on a pebbly beach thinking some faraway poetic thoughts. The phone wouldn’t be ringing and all those app notification pings wouldn’t even silently vibrate. They’d just not even be. But it turns out the phone really is ringing.
“No, I wasn’t in a recent car accident and I don’t want a different energy supplier or insurance, leave me alone! ” The toothpaste stain is still there. And the price on the catalogue sweater – don’t even go there.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m as just as big a sucker as the next knitter, for coveting that outfit that could give me membership of the contemplative-look-with-an-inner-glow club, but..
with sweater prices in this catalogue going from £165 to £255?!!! I’m starting to think that club has other people in mind for its membership. Will I ever have a turn at looking picturesque amongst windfalls and stony beaches?
But hang on a minute, let me get a better look at the sweater… it’s made with tweedy Donegal yarn, which by the look of those stitches is a worsted-ish weight – just like the Donegal Wool Spinning Company. I’m now thinking Caidree’s Aran Gallant pattern could totally nail it.
Ok, so I know I’m stepping dangerously close to a pious count-your-blessings sermon here, but come on guys – We’ve got this! We don’t need to covet some imagined life-stylie nonsense that no one real is really living anyway. We’ve got our own magic power to transform balls of wool into woolly sweaters. And those sweaters will hold stories of interest and curiosity and warmth that catalogue stylists can only dream of.