I am touched that Mum has spent so much time knitting me a cardigan. I put it on. It has a high collar, ridiculously wide shoulders and leg of mutton sleeves. On the outside it is scrambled egg yellow (my favourite colour I tell her), inside is a separate wool lining in greys and pastel shades. It is huge and misshapen. I'll never be able to wear it. I try it on inside out discovering that I am already wearing a waistcoat, two beige cardigans and a scarlet sequinned shirt, so it looks even bulkier when I remove all those. "It's great, Mum," I say, "a perfect fit."