Do you think there’s a yarn-bombers’ secret charter?
Because if there is, I must have broken all of its covenants. I mean surely, surely, rule number one would state, ‘Don’t be seen whilst you’re yarn-bombing’? I have huge respect for whoever has been tiptoeing around our village at 3am attaching vibrant knitted pieces to our various bus stops, sign posts, and suchlike. I have never seen them in the act,
although a lovely woman I met in the village shop dropped strong hints that it was she.
Anyway, my own work failed spectacularly in its attempt at discretion. (Failing to channel Banksy, here.)
As I’ve said before, I’ve been planning a little light yarn-bombing of the tower here at our old brewery home. Having knitted and crocheted the various components, I needed to install them around the railings of the tower balcony. I did so over the course of two evenings, working late into the night whilst the toddler twinnage slept and the stoic spouse sat downstairs wondering whether his wife had relinquished her marbles.
Fate was not on my side.
On evening one, I sat on the middle floor of the tower, feet out on the balcony railings, cheerfully sewing strips of knitting/crochet into place, with only a glass of wine, some circling bats, and the odd nibblesome mosquito for company. Or at least that was the case until the police helicopter started patrolling right above our house, and the sound of sirens encircled our teeny tiny little lane. So I’m starting to seriously worry that either (i) I’m majorly violating a village no-bonkersness bylaw and am about to be frog-marched down the High Street and publically flogged for crimes against normality, or (ii) some scary criminal type is sneaking down our drive-way to say, “Excuse me madam, but would you mind pausing from your creative endeavours to shield me from the law? And if not, would this Kalashnikov persuade you towards my point of view?” This is a sleepy rural village for goodness sake! We don’t do crime: it’d be uncouth. It’d make a mess. It’d spoil the village’s character. Hence my concern that it’s (i) above.
That was evening one. It made me nervous.
On evening two, I started earlier, which was possibly my mistake. The problem this time was that our brewery tower is, by definition, rather visible. As I sat there, seven surrounding houses had the privilege of a ringside seat. And sure enough, a lovely, lovely, lovely neighbour came out of her overlooking house and commented on my work. She was very kind with her words, as is her wont. But then she fetched her visiting friends from inside to come out and see my efforts. All attempts at secrecy were lost. I had failed.
Anyway, it’s done now. Would you like to see some pictures? (Please say yes.)
So, here’s the ‘before’ view of the tower:-
…And here’s the after:-
As for the details, there are pigeons. I swear the sound of real pigeon-cooing intensified once I’d fixed these knitted blighters:-
And there was the abundant hanging basket, because our real hanging baskets are doing very little as yet, the florally lazy blighters:-
So there you have it. The product of a slightly bonkers mind.
Now tomorrow will bring a big announcement… the reason that I’m writing this whilst sipping champagne…