My first attempt at crochet was when I was 12. Aunty M, who by then had taught me to knit and embroider, started me off in the summer holidays and a blanket of reasonable proportions was quickly produced.
This is the same blanket which always came out of the airing cupboard (where it still lives) when the Boy and Girlie were littlies (sigh) and languishing on the sofa with whichever lurgy they'd managed to catch.
It wouldn't withstand close scrutiny, with the funny mix of yarns (cotton, wool and, ooh, Bri nylon) and the colour changes in the middle of rows when the yarn ran out. But it seemed to do the trick whenever a tummy ache needed soothing.
I didn't pick up a crochet hook again. That is, until last Thursday when the urge to have another go inexplicably (maybe it was something to do with the weather or not getting out much because of this damned ankle which is still giving me gyp) came over me.
Aunty M couldn't remember how to cast on so I turned to Google for instructions. After I don't know how many attempts with an old plastic hook which I found lurking in the bottom of the knitting needle bag, the penny finally dropped and I was off.
A quick trip to the shops and a bag of pure merino wool later, another blanket is rapidly taking shape (whilst the laundry mounts up and the dust gathers everywhere). Like the first one, it's far from perfect (some of those 'shells' are bigger than they should be) with a made up method for changing colour. But Aunty M was impressed. Unlike someone here who advised "Keep it small, there's not much room left in the loft".
The Girlie was home at the weekend (for a spot of bridal hair accessory shopping) so the crochet hook was put down down long enough to bake a cake.
Chocolate Victoria sandwich with a Nutella and fresh cream filling. None for me as I'm still sugar-free. It must have been okay as it quickly disappeared. And no-one needed the Tummy Ache Blanket.