So while reading novels I find myself itching for the characters to pick up some knitting during scenes where they are waiting for something.
In Good Night, Mr. Holmes (a book about the Sherlock Holmes character Irene Adler and her sidekick: a conservative, proper minister's daughter. Sort of the Dr. Watson to Irene's Holmes), there were several scenes in the women's apartments and I was practically screaming for them to pick up some knitting. (Fun book, by the way!)
And in the more contemporary Me and Mr. Darcy, about a 20-something New York girl who goes on a Jane Austen bus tour of England, I was so jumpy at the thought of all that travel time (the long flight and then the bus tour!) without knitting. (Book was just meh.)
See? I have a problem. It's getting out of control. Maybe I need to stick to knitting fiction.