I’m on the other side of the world from my adopted home, on holiday, spending time with my mother and brother. I’m watching my mother knit my 1940s t-shirt.

Me, monsieur demanding Dauphin, the anointed one in the corner on the chaise longue. Drinking cups of hot elderflower cordial made for me by brother, eating homemade chocolate biscuits made by mother (in between rows), considering my navel.

Does guilt seep in the corners? Is it time to get knitting again, after a long time away from the needles? Me thinks so.

Inspiration comes through necessity. A cold, wet winter full of southern winds. Samples of the obsessive knitter’s fingerless gloves are tried on and wholeheartedly approved of. The perfect present to take home to the partner in the UK.

Time to choose wools. The end result must be more Yamamoto than Topshop. This means a faint sheen to the fine wool (although too shiny and you veer towards luxe, and that is not the desired effect), with a density and weight to the texture. We find a mixture of 70% merino, 25% silk and 5% cashmere in 4-ply black. Just the look we’re after.

And now to swatch.

BDW