The unfortunate wifely journey and the shifty tray.

It all starts with the fantastic lambswool gloves i bought at Cerde in Ullapool knitted by a 93 year old woman. Her talent is one of the type of expertise we are losing moment by moment and relates directly with our changing times, our changing relationships between ourselves as women and divisions of seemingly gender oriented efforts.

So many things these gloves signify. 

The labour of reflexive autonomy, the clicking of needles as the Shetland light dims, as the other women hold company, now a bought commodity of expensive design houses, keeping old hands nimble.

I am in love with the making of these truly beautiful warm practical gloves and in wearing them i feel a thread of tradition that is too poignant, too indulgent on my behalf maybe but i cannot honour their past enough.

As to the shifty tray - that’s my fight with a gender caste i’ve never invited.

And amongst this and by the way my Dad knitted

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