My knitting project, which started out so well, has been languishing in my beautiful wicker knitting basket for weeks.

It’s not that I’ve lost interest – not at all. In fact, I’d love nothing better than to curl up in front of the TV and finish off the three or four hours of work that are left before I can wear the garment.

But I’ve been putting it off. I didn’t know, you see, whether I could remember how to pick up stitches, something I will need to do if I’m to add the side ribbing.

Luckily, just the other day a colleague of mine happened to mention that she was about to embark on a new project herself.

“I didn’t realise you could knit,” I said. “I don’t suppose you know how to pick up stitches, do you?”

She did of course. I brought in my close-to-finished cardi the next day, and within minutes I was confident I could finish it off.

All I needed to do was ask for help. Simple really, when you think about it.

But asking for help isn’t something that comes easily to me. It’s not that I’m independent or stubborn, I simply don’t think to ask.

I don’t know why but it seems built into my wiring that I should try and do everything myself, and so I frequently keep going until I’ve run myself ragged.

Another example is my birthday party. I hadn’t noticed how stressed I was getting about the whole event until my mum offered to arrange the catering.

Suddenly a weight lifted from my shoulders as I realised that this is what had been worrying me. Finally, I could get excited about everything.

The best thing about asking for help though, is how it blesses the person that ends up helping you.

In recent weeks I’ve babysat for friends, given people lifts, listened to problems and even done a bit of catering myself. And I’ve loved every single moment of it.

Making a difference to other people, particularly people you care about, brings a quiet joy that can’t be explained but has to be experienced.

Perhaps I should finally get someone round to help me put up my bed, hang my mirror and fix my shelves.