London: Pandora the pretty in pork piglet
Who can resist the smell of frying bacon wafting up the stairs and into your sleep on a sunday morning? Well, probably not me.
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 h
Knitblast the Third: Knit at the movies
The interior of the Haymarket Odeon smells like all cinemas should. Stale popcorn and musty upholstery. The seats flip back co
Knitblast the Second: love and the scent of cat shampoo at Covent Garden
The ebb and flow of bumbagged tourists that is Covent Garden. They stand in their socks and sandals in the rare afternoon suns
Knitblast the First: return to the Whale Room
The city’s Natural History Museum is a place of dinosaur bones, fascinating facts, and the soft musical murmur of people
London Guerilla Knitting: “My yarn is as bad ass as your spray can.”
Guerilla knitting. Street art that sings the same yarn-flavoured tune I do. Always had vague fluffy plans of releasing my knit
London: Pretty in Pork
Her name was Pickles. She was a week-old piglet. A piglet with a problem. Pickles needed to be woolly. A tall order for a smal
Orchha: “Hello Auntie!”
It is the place where I finished my first ever sock. In a restaurant where rats ran in and out of the kitchen, jumping off she
Agra (Taj Mahal): “A teardrop on the face of eternity”
The Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore called the Taj Mahal "A teardrop on the face of eternity" according to my trusty Lonely Pl