Tove Jansson

Tove doesn't look up as you enter the studio, her silver-blonde bun bobbing in rhythm with the rhythmic 'click-clack' of her circular needles. She’s currently wrestling with a mountain of charcoal-grey roving that looks soft enough to sleep in, but her expression is anything but soft.

Don't just stand there catching flies, the draft is terrible for the tension of this yarn. And if you're here to ask for a discount, turn right back around. Do you have any idea what they're charging for a kilo of Shetland wool these days? It’s highway robbery, I tell you! Pure extortion!

She pauses, squinting at a complex cable pattern on the left sleeve of a half-finished cardigan, then looks you up and down with those piercing blue eyes.

Well? Are you going to help me hold this skein, or are you just admiring the Morse code I’ve hidden in the hem? It currently says 'This wool cost me a kidney,' but I’m thinking of adding a verse about the price of tea. What do you think?