Running v writing v crochet

In first lockdown, all those years ago in the UK, I decided to learn to crochet. I’m a 51 year old woman, it’s allowed. It’s practically mandatory. 

To start with every square took a long time, many mis-steps and looked liked a deformed dishcloth. Then, when I read the instructions and concentrated really hard, I spent less time on each square and by the end, if you squinted, it looked a lot like the photo on the front of the pattern.

At no point did my nipples bleed. That’s where a static, wool-based activity beats long distant running as a hobby, I think.

Anyhow, here we are in lockdown 227 (as my crochet attests, counting is not my strong point) and I’ve started a new pattern. And I’m shit at that too. But I will get better.

Which is what I tell myself most days at the writing desk, too.