Just a short story today.
So I was plopped down on the lino outside of one of my courses yesterday, waiting for the class before us to spill out, and I was knitting away on, well, a large red sock (I almost always knit before this particular course). When someone plops down beside me. I (understandably) turn to face this individual, and I don't recognise them. This is most often bad. This lady then proceeds to pull the knitting out of my hands (isn't that like getting between an animal and it's food?), goes on to thoroughly inspect it (I raise my eyebrow quizzically. I figure if she decides to assault it more violently, no one will stop me eviscerating her with a fistful of DPNs.), and then hand it back to me. She then nods and, in a fairly noticeable accent (maybe Russian or something? I think she must have been a graduate student or sommat), compliments the heck out of me! Turns out that she is a knitter as well, and we chatted about Continental (European, according to her) versus English knitting, Kaffe Fassett, the relative difficulties of socks, and so on. There may yet be hope for this town.