On Saturday my friend and I to Yarndale, yeah baby! It was up in Skipton, Yorkshire (a truly beautiful place, Yorkshire not Skipton although it is a nice town). Expecting it to be ‘grim up north’ (we’re a pair of southern softies) we were overwhelmed with not only the beautiful countryside but the wonderfully friendly people. From the taxi driver who collected us (his wife is a midwife, they love Nissan qashqais but not golfs) to the waiter at the Chinese restaurant (he likes all types of melon, watermelon, honeydew etc etc) and the waitresses at our favourite cafe in Skipton (Coopers Cafe – had a scrumptious egg mayo baguette there) they were ridiculously friendly.
Yarndale was fab. Overwhelming but fab. The place chockablock with every kind of wool-related product you could possibly imagine. A lot of it was utterly mystifying – my friend and I felt like a pair of newbies. Once we got over the shock we got stuck in and both bought some yarn and I bought a felt ball making kit – why not.
Please excuse the crumminess of both photos, they were just snapped from my phone.
Of course the highlight was meeting Lucy. We found her in the centre of yarndale in a sort of log cabin seating area. My friend noticed her first in a crowd of people and nudged me and did the ‘pointing with her eyes thing’. We were too shy to say anything though so shuffled off to have a sit down. After ten minutes of contemplating and watching other eejits going over and gushing at her (some even had their photos taken with her (although very britishly we decided that was a step too far) we decided we would have to say something.
So we queued behind another dare-I-say-it ‘fan’ and waited. Of course she was delightful. We gushed a bit, asked advice on how to set up a knit and natter group locally (apparently the key is turning knitters to the dark side). We left, pleased we had conducted ourselves sensibly. However, on relaying our conversation later to our respective husbands we were told we sounded like a sketch from ‘Miranda’. Harrumph. All I’ll say is this, I think might have touched her sleeve (glances down at unwashed hand) – make of that what you will.