Several weeks ago I wrote of my plan to learn to knit with Stitch & Bitch London.

Last night I attended my first Stitch & Bitch meeting where I met some very friendly and interesting people, including founding member Deadly Knitshade, who was to be my teacher for the evening.

I took part in a knitting lesson over a gin and tonic, and even managed a few stitches on my own (the bitching part comes naturally to me, so no pointers required there).

I showed up at the National Theatre’s Long Bar at about six o’clock. Deadly Knitshade (I really can’t get enough of the name!) told me she was expecting a crowd, as the South Bank venue was very popular with knitters… and she was right.

By about quarter to seven the bar was heaving with knitters, all of them chatting, laughing, making newbies like me feel welcome, and of course, knitting up an absolute storm – everything from jumpers to scarves to dolls to hats. Impressive stuff.

The Stitch & Bitch empire at work

Ready, set, knit

I bought my instructor a large glass of wine (I opted for large as I suspected I might try her patience more than a little) and got my sticks and string out of my bag – it was time to begin. Herein, step one: tie the knot.

DK showed me and Gary, a fellow knitting virgin (but, go figure, a man who knows his way round a crochet hook) how to tie a slipknot. This is a crucial first step.

DK demonstrates the art of the slipknot

Casting on

Once our knots were tied, we stuck one needle through the knot and snugged it up to appropriate tightness (this concept would prove a challenge for me). Then the other needle went into the loop and what I can only describe as the magic of knitting began.

It would be senseless for me to try to explain how to knit – truly, you need to be taught in person by someone who knows what they’re doing. I will, however, walk through the steps I took (and will doubtless need to take again, as the second stab at a new skill always takes some re-teaching!).

Once the slipknot is on board, you need to cast on: get a whole row of kinda-stitches on your needle so you can start with the actual stitches. We casted on 15 stitches.

Here I am, casting on

And we’re off

Once you have casted on, the real knitting begins.

DK taught Gary and I to stitch and we were away. Out of nowhere, I showed an aptitude for the venture (this was highly unexpected) and in the 45 minutes I spent stitching, I actually laid down five rows of stitches with only two mysterious-looking holes (I shall blame moths). I was rather chuffed indeed!

My first row of stitches

DK suggested Gary and I knit practice squares to start, rather than actual garments, as that way we would be less frustrated when we dropped stitches and made mistakes. This is wise advice, but looking at my happy rows of stitches, I don’t really want to take it – I want to knit a scarf! (DK tells me this feeling is normal amongst rookie knitters.)

Come the end of the session, I shoved my stitching up the needle and then stuck the needles in the ball of yarn to prevent any unravelling between now and the next session. Then I paused to admire my handiwork: several rows of slightly uneven stitches, made of 100% pure wool, with plenty of love and bitching.

Job... well, started! But a good start, indeed.

A surprising knitting fact

There are actually a few ways to knit. The main difference as I understand it is the English way (move the yarn around the needles) and the Continental way (move the needles more than the yarn). The majority of the S&B crowd knit the English way, and apparently once you are comfortable doing it one way, you stick to it.

And the verdict

I love knitting! It’s crafty and retro and strangely soothing. It also could yield fabulous clothing… or at least the odd scarf. And I love the chattiness of the activity — knitters are friendly. Even before I arrived at S&B, a complete stranger struck up a chat with me in a shop queue… because I was buying knitting needles, and she knits, too.

There’s something fascinating about the way this skill gets passed down. One woman I spoke with learned to knit the Continental way from her mother, who learned from her mother, who was taught, aged eight, by an American woman on a transatlantic steamer, when the child’s family were all seasick and she had no-one to talk to. I think there’s something really touching about that.

I almost feel like a bit of an imposter, walking into this tradition so late in the game… but if anything, that just makes me want to become good at it – or at the very least, relatively able – and make it part of my own tradition.

Spent: £6.45 on wool and knitting needles

Saved: £74.49: knitting lessons run £60 for a series of four, plus I got a free issue of Knitting magazine (value £4.49) and I’m well on my way to a new scarf (£10 or so?)