Knitblast the Fourth: Holy knitted lamppost cosy, Batman

Derby – city of the hangovers, heartaches, hidden handholding and half-price promises of my misspent youth. I returned here dragging my feet so reluctantly I may as well have been walking backwards.

A cup of tea, a deep breath, a check of the knitblast utility belt and a trip into my past.

Tea and sneaky stitchery

Here was the house where I sat on the kitchen worktop and shared reduced-to-clear smoked salmon with three hungry rescue cats.

Here was the club doorway that I stumbled from at 3am in search of chips, cheese and mayonnaise for the cab ride home.

Here was the flat where I awoke in a tequila-reeking headstorm to find someone had filled my shoes with water and placed them in the freezer.

Here was the beer garden where I said “It’s not you, it’s me” to a soundtrack by Jarvis Cocker and Damon Albarn.

Here was the empty shell of the video shop where I slouched behind the counter reading comics and reluctantly doling out Chuck Norris films to people with tattooed knuckles and horrifying teeth.

Here was the pavement where a desperate suitor dripped ‘I love you’ onto the concrete from his bloody nose, in the most stomach-turning bid for my love I will ever be subjected to.

God and the scent of chip cobs

Here was the lecture hall where I, and every other girl in the class, fell slightly in love with a man who stood at the front and talked about Oliver Stone too much.

Here was the office block where I corrected mistakes for free ‘newspapers’ that even the rats at the dump, who lined their nests with them, wouldn’t read.

Here was where my best friend in the world and I discovered red wine, philosophy and Leonardo DiCaprio.

Here was where the first one that got away, got away.

Batman (after Batgirl has come and gone secretly): How does she do it?

Faced with a past me that drank pints, broke hearts, and wanted more than anything to grow up to be Batgirl, it was understandable a knitblast was on its way. A shadowy, slight and understandably purple knitblast that swung itself around a lamppost in the sacrosanct shadow of the city’s cathedral.

I still want to grow up to be Batgirl.

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