In the absence of seating at the lovely shady entrance to the Oak Bay Recreation Center I was leaning against a cement garbage receptacle, contentedly knitting.
"You dropped a stitch," said a voice behind me with an English accent you could listen to with much pleasure. "I just heard it," the voice went on and by this time I had turned to see who was speaking to me: I was the only one in the vicinity knitting.
"Did you now," I replied to the dashing-looking elderly gentleman. "That’s quite the feat."
"I’m used to it," he said, pointing to the lady with him. She and I exchanged an amused knitterly look.
"I’ve never heard of anyone being able to hear a dropped stitch," I told them as they walked on. "Thank you!"
He paused and turned and gave a small bow.