knitting my time away

Multiple Choice...

2008-08-08T15:50:00.008+01:00

And the big news is?

a) I'm ba-ack....
b) The Ravelympics 2008 has started....
c) There is a new Yarn Pusher on the Block....

Well, duh. What else could the answer be, but c.

So, welcome to Dizzy Blonde Yarns, home to the fantabulous creations of La (you know, La, from the infamous KnottyGirls stable, out of JenLa, by Yer General Troublemakers, but we luvs ya anyway).

I have sampled said yarns, and I will attest to their general swooniness-making abilitites. Good yarn, nice yarn, highly pettable, knittable, wearable yarn. In good and generous quantities, enough to delight the hearts of any yarn lovers.

So, ya know, clicky-clicky:

Oh, yeah, there is some knitting news, but with all the excitement today, I'll save it for later.... 'cos, you know, I have a blog, and really ought to put things on it.....

aaaaaaargh! (resolved)

2008-05-03T12:36:00.002+01:00

Can you see the crisis? Can you see the problem? Can you see the whole earth-shattering, scream loudly, rip it all out issue?

Can you see the idiocy, which is to use yarn that comes all nicely measured, for a specific kit, and take some and play around with it on other things, and then mess a whole wodge of it up, and then use it to play with the cats, and then wonder why you run out of yarn at the end. I should have liable to 'User Error' tattooed on my forehead....

But, the amazing Andie over at Renaissance Dyeing, after getting my slightly hysterical, written at 2am email, ran out to her workshop on a Saturday morning (now there is service for you), ransacked her stores, and found the right yarn, in the right dye-lot, and is sending it to me. (Along with some other things that may have fallen into my shopping basket). And anyone else who needs Copper Beech dye lot no.2 will just have to whistle for it, for I have cornered the world market in this particular yarn. (Open to bribes, of course, of other yarn....)

So, do you think 250m will be enough to finish it?

(Hmmm, wonder if this was what was causing my somewhat self-indulged melt-down recently.)

not knitting but drowning....

2008-05-01T18:11:00.002+01:00

Well, there is some knitting, and exciting things are close to finished (as long as I don't run out of yarn...), and some exciting purchases have come into the house (ask me how to get hold of some Woolmeise!). But I need to vent, so be warned.

But, right now, I am fighting with Insurance companies, and most specifically their very clever new strategy of demanding that all clients must needs become hydrogeologists overnight. For last summer, the area I live in suffered some flooding. Some quite bad flooding. A result of extreme weather, and poor infrastructure maintenance. But my house, luckily, was dry.

But now I have to fill in a form, asking such things as are you within 1/4 mile of any streams, rivers, lakes, reservoirs, water courses or tidal waters? (Well, I reckon most places would be fairly close to at least one of these, oh, and by the way, what precisely do they mean by a water course? Precisely? Because if I get the answers wrong, it could be used to invalidate any insurance claim I make....). and please advise the approximate height of the premises above the normal high water mark of the nearest watercourse? (Do you think the council would lend me their fancy theodolites? The ones that can measure along roads, and around corners, and through buildings, oh, and would a really, really good GPS machine be useful, one which will give me the exact height differences? Because if I get the answers wrong, it could be used to invalidate any insurance claim I make....)

Now, I may have mentioned my problems with forms before (I once managed to tell the DVLA - driving licence people - that I was legally blind, and when they sent me a very nice letter asking if I had made a mistake, I rang them up and argued about it. Because I couldn't possibly have been wrong....). So I am in complete tail-spin melt down.

Not helped by going to events to which one needs to take a smart suit (fine, I'll get the iron out), display boards (well, if you will volunteer to put up a display), drawing pins (for to attach to the display board), computer (for to display something using technology - amazing, though, how people who don't like computers can actively refuse to even acknowledge the presence of one, even if you are playing music very loudly through it). So far, so good and normal. But then add in a couple of laundry racks (which have absolutely nothing to do with my display), and most importantly, a cool box (because there was a transfer of a rather nice piece of meat - apologies if you are veggie - that needed to take place in a car park, which had absolutely nothing to do with displays, events, smart suits, computers, or even laundry racks.) It was remembering the cool box which put me over the edge....

Oh, can anyone explain what a supra-existential crisis is (and why it might be different from just your plain old regular existential crisis)? Or what an ontological insecurity is?

here bloggy, bloggy, bloggy, blog

2008-03-21T15:34:00.003Z

time for feeding!

So, yes, the blog. Well, since I've been away, there's been a earthquake (dudes, how do you in California survive the we'll shake you like you're a lime green jello?), the roof done got broke, and fixed, the boiler done got broke, and fixed, I've had to chase the wheelie bin, and assorted contents, down the road three times 'cos of the wind, wash one of the cat's heads twice, 'cos she has taken to sticking it a local sewer, and you just can't wait for the grooming to kick in, been labelled the spawn of something found on the bottom of a shoe (don't ask, long story, but it may involve meetings about string, but hey, I won), caused havoc at a local quiz group, and we haven't even had the first round yet, bought five pairs of shoes in five minutes (I'm good at shoes), and then spent 3 hours trying to buy a pair of trousers, all from the same shop (repeat until you remember it, you are not the same size you were 20 years ago), finally made a loaf of bread which isn't paving-slab-like, finally managed to find my ear plugs, so I could go to the movies (I'm delicate like that, I am, you know), told off a PhD student for writing about babies growing in women's abdomens, and taken to buying, and wearing, manga t-shirts, because I'm clearly having some kind of crisis about turning 40 this year.

Oh, and I've done some knitting.

A while ago, La (of JenLa) sent me some sumptuous Dizzy Blonde hand-dyed (check it out on Ravelry. See, told you it was good). Too good to go on the feets, so instead, at last, it became something....

Serpentine Mitts, from MimKnits (funnily enough, a kit for her Lightweight Mountain Peaks Shawl also managed to find its way to the house, from Renaissance Dyeing, purveyors of high quality you should be able to eat it yarn). And a treat they are too. And I've got enough yarn for another pair. La, you are a goddess.

And then, to balance out the good, I've been playing fugly...

Which looks better when you make bigger squares...

And is part of a group project for Project Linus. And somewhat stunning, in a I know it is only March, but dear heavens I need a pair of sunglasses now to save me, but hopefully something that boys will like. If it ever gets sewn up into a comfort blanket.... which it will. Because I have decreed. And because I suckered punch Pampootie into being in charge (which she may deny, but I am stubborn, and I will win).

And now I must flee, and save the sewer-headed cat from barfing on the scary fugly yarn (which, truth be told, is actually rather nice knitted up, being a decent superwash and all, and I would tell you what it is, but the rest of the yarn is shut away in a darkened room, for its own safety, and I can't remember what it is called). (As usual, the good pictures come from Puplet.)

Oh, yes, and the last thing I did of any note? Helped to welcome the well-hatted Aran into the world, by getting drunk on the last of my 28 year old single malt.

Aran, son of WoollyWormhead and Mr Tom, you were worth the sacrifice!

I'm having a Charlie Brown moment...

2008-02-08T21:02:00.000Z

... in other words: 'Oh, good grief'. So the blog hasn't been fed for a while. Because I've managed to get myself silly busy, what with Ravelry (not that I say much there, either, but so much pretty pretty to look at), and joining Mission: Possible 2008 (the fault of Jen of Jenla and Bavgirl, and by the way is there a prize for the greatest underachiever? Aside from yarn arson?) and work (actual paid work, which can be done in pyjamas, with coffee, in front of the computer. Oh, buggery, in pyjamas, with coffee, in front of the computer. Sorry, did I say I was meant to be working?), and volunteer stuff (I'll have you bow down and worship now, please, because I am now both a President, and a Trustee. Oh, the power.... to go to meetings.... ), and grant applications for volunteer stuff (so, you want me to tell you exactly how long that piece of string is going to be, in advance of getting said piece of string in our hands), and projects for volunteer stuff (how long should a piece of string be, anyway? Should we maybe get a committee together, and have some meetings, to discuss the ideal length of a piece of string? Oh, look, how surprising, everyone thinks it should be a different length.... ). And then the general stuff of living (anyone know where I hid the hoover?)

And there has even been some knitting, but because I have a new camera (Woot!), and a shiny new computer (double Woot!), I haven't managed to co-ordinate the taking of pictures with the uploading and the posting .... but I'll give it a go....

Hot-diggety-dawg, something has worked, so behold Daisy, from Woollywormhead's new book, 'Going Straight',

and Sweet Winkie, from the same.

Folks, I gotta say it, and not because I know and adore Woollywormhead, but this is a fabulous book! Hats in a multitude, all designed to be knitted on straights, with fantastic tutorials on short-rowing, and kitchenering (who knew that not only did garter stitch have a reverse side, but that it had its own rules for kitchenering?). And the hats are just so clever, and fun, and quick.

But now, I must go, for I've just been told that Shrödinger's kitten has got a ball of string to play with, and I've got to measure it.

xmas (not), new year (not), okay winter socks

2008-01-04T16:46:00.000Z

Finished. Finally. Meant to be an xmas present, but didn't make it. Meant to be finished for the new year, but didn't make it. But hey, they made it in time for winter. And to keep puplet's feet warm, in his brand new wellies.

And I have to say, I am deeply proud of these (even though the pictures aren't great, but you know how finicky and unco-operative models can be....).

And the details, just so I can try and keep track (the whole scraps of paper and backs of envelopes working soooooo well these days.)

Based on Cat Bordhi's Clematis Vine (thought without the clematis, or the vine, I suppose), from her New Pathways for Sock Knitters. And my advice for people working from Cat's book, is to trust in her numbers.

And the tops - well, cobbled together, a filling of a 2x2 corrugated rib, sandwiched between 2 rows of a Kihnu vits braid, from Nancy Bush's 'Folk Knitting in Estonia.

And the cast-off - from Priscilla A Gibson-Roberts 'Ethnic Socks and Stockings', something that she calls the double stitch bind off, which worked wonderfully in the two colours. (Though I went up 2 needle sizes, to a 3.5mm, and it still isn't the most elastic ever, but it isn't circulation cutting, so good.)

And the overall knit? Well, on 3mm needles, I kept going, gradually increasing up the back of the leg, 'til there were 104 stitches around. And I kept going until I was just about out of yarn. 4 balls of Regia Silk 4ply gone from the stash (yippee!).

The verdict? I am all seriously boasty. I think I done good.

Next, on to the Hats. For I have received, and drooled over, WoollyWormhead's glorious new Hat Book. And I strongly urge all and any to get it. For the Hats, they are good.

(Normal incompetent non-fitting knitting will return soon.)

catmas cheer

2007-12-24T20:07:00.000Z

Remember to put some catnip out for Santa and his reincat, hard at work tonight.

Remember that only good cats get catmas presents, so a last-minute public display of affection for your catmas friends is always a good idea.

And finally, don't forget to get to sleep early the night before catmas - it can be tiring, being full of catmas cheer.

To friends old and new, Happy Holidays!

wipping post

2007-12-19T17:18:00.000Z

Look what I done gone and finished. A thing of beauty, in the pattern, a thing of glory, as other people have made it. A wonder.

Yes, that is a finished Eunny Jang Tangled Yoke Cardigan. And I made it with proper grafting, and short rows for lumps, and even grafted off the ribbed button band. And it is lovely, made in a not quite too fuzzy coned yarn from Sue Blacker. (Okay, so it is much fuzzier than the pattern recommended yarn. But I deserve brownie points for stash-busting. And even though the fuzzy makes the cables less stand-out-y. But, still, I deserve points for stash-busting.)

But. Despite getting gauge (even with yarn adjustments), and knitting to what I thought was the right size. I forgot something. I forgot about negative ease. And the thing hangs on me like a sack. A really, really bad sack of idiotness. (And the buttonband needs better blocking.)

So, do I give it away? Frog and reknit? Hide it and continue sulking (this sulking may have had something to do with recent blog absence, because I am not a grown woman)? Or, daringly, do I try a very subtle and gentle semi-felting? Answers on a postcard please.

Still, there have been other works happening here - behold two in progress, which do fit, dammit.

A baby Muir, in a Habu silk. Lovely, but slow. My designated sitting in front of the 'puter waiting for a CD to upload knitting.

And my one and only bit of Xmas knitting, a pair of socks, not even for me. The Clematis Vine (but without the vine) from Cat Bordhi's New Pathways for Sock Knitters. And I know these fit, for the giftee is regularly instructed to hold out foot, close eyes, and then forget the feel of stranded Regia Silk goodness.

What I really, really like about these socks, apart from the fact that two colour socks are just so much quicker, is that the combination of the red and charcoal plays tricks with the eyes, making it look almost ribbed. That, and if you do trust in Cat's magical master numbers, it actually works.

And now, I would like to share with you just one final piece of wisdom, stolen from Carrie K. (very clever woman, that):

The reason to never finish your knitting is to avoid any possible danger of learning that the infernal thing doesn't fit.

See, nothing but a license to keep casting-on....

there is nothing like a bowl....

2007-11-25T23:44:00.000Z

....of yarny goodness, to set you up good and proper for a long day ahead of serious yarn shopping at your nearest yarn extravaganza.

For seriously, is not this bowl of chocolate and raspberry sweetness better than a bowl of cornflakes, or highly fruit-and-nutted-museli?

Officially, a bowl full of Posh Yarns, of cashmere Incense. Because a long time ago, I had a cone of something or other that I cannot remember (no, my stash is not out of control), which Blueadt rather liked. So it only seemed right and proper that Blueadt got the cone, and in return I would get something. Only I forgot that I had done this (once again, my stash is not out of control, and nor is my memory for yarns in it, due to be in it, due to be used, due to be part of it at some unspecified time in the future, when I first see them, but are only in potentia at the present). Blueadt, on the other hand, has a firm grasp of all things yarny in her life (you can check out her stash on Ravelry, if you don't believe me), and did remember. And recently, I was presented with the above. Which are beautiful, and pettable enough that they probably deserve actual pet names, and good enough to eat. So many thanks Blueadt.

And then, to make things even better and brighter, the postie knocked the other day, and presented me with a package all the way from America, which contained things that smell nice (yay for smellies, that aid the hiding in the bath to soothe away the day), and things to keep food usefully hot in (yay for the funky hot-bag, which also, happily and conveniently, nicely holds a travelling yarn project), and yet more yarny goodness. So good, that surely snacking on this would be better than a hearty bowl of porridge. Or better than a bowl of Cranachan?

In colours that make me want to dye my hair to match (the colours of the yarn - not the blondeness, though I would dye my hair blonde, if it would guarantee a regular supply of Dizzy Blonde Yarns). So yay for JenLa, who sent delicious things many, many miles, to bring berry, berry goodness into my stash. (The fact that this sits not in my stash, but on my desk, is in no way any kind of indication that I in any way acknowledge that my stash may be a place of growing black hole-ness. For I am in control of my stash, my stash does not control me.) So many thanks JenLa. (Oh, and you just have to check out La's Serenity blanket. Lace, and Joss love, can it get any better?)

The actual knitting show went well, greatly aided by my fellow traveller, and arch-map-reader (and map-annotater - she found a pencil loose in the car), Knitterbelle (and the less said about buckets of beans and Cattlemens Associations the better). Though shopping was severely limited by my standing on the KCG stand for much of the day (but shopping was still managed - in a somewhat panicky fashion, but please to remember that this is in no ways any sign that the stash is in control, it has not achieved sentience, and in no ways is it directing me in any kind of mind-control fashion to feed it to epic proportions, so that it may take over the house), under the careful eye of WyeSue. I wonder if WyeSue's watchfulness had anything to do with my ever constant need to invite people in, possibly a trifle loudly, to 'Come and look at Sue's knitted knickers'? No, surely not. (Though they are deeply fabulous, and well worthy of looking at.)

Despite all the recent doom and gloom, life is actually pretty damned marvellous, what with presents, and knitting shows, and knitting actually happening (you can just wait for the actual info on that), and just generally many fun things to do. And winter solstice getting nearer, so soon the days will get longer. Yay.

(Excuse me, but I think I hear the stash calling. Apparently the Habu has been misbehaving, and calling the Wensleydale a country yokel, and the Jamieson's colours need separating, because the greens have been mixing with the yellows again. And I need to arm myself with a couple of 150cm circs before I go in. Not that the stash is out of control, or anything.)

I really, really, really, really....

2007-11-21T15:20:00.000Z

.... want to have a major whine-fest. I mean really. I want to bitch and moan and whinge, and shout and cry and stamp my feet, and throw absolutely every single breakable toy out of my pram.

Hmmm, I think, among other well-whingeable things, that S.A.D. might be kicking in big-time this year (a month or so to go, and the days will start to get longer...).

And I haven't made time to tell of the (yet more, I'm very, very spoiled this year) presents from near and far.

And I haven't made time to tell of the yarn-related activities.

But tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I will be playing at a knitting show.

And then, I shall come back, and be a cat for the rest of the winter....

(okay, so my new motto is: 'don't have anything [nice] to say, post pictures of sleeping cats instead'. Sorry.)

whoopsie cushions

2007-11-01T17:37:00.000Z

I took this picture, so I'll use it, goshdarnit. (Anything else that might have happened in yesterday's post is a completely innocent mistake, so apologies to all concerned....)

One cat, one evil cat, who has been known to swipe me in the eye, for not vacating her sofa quick enough. Keeping my dinner warm for me, and adding that extra special spicy flavour.... Perhaps this is a hint that I should up my home-cooked food consumption, and stop with the take-away....

can't come to the blog right now...

2007-10-25T10:04:00.001+01:00

... because I am:

1) Nursing a little baby black eye. Which my CAT gave me last night.

and;

2) I've finally got onto Ravelry. You can find me under susoolu. Let the time sucking begin.

feeling deflated, and apparently rather red

2007-10-16T13:55:00.000+01:00

Now, it isn't that I've been avoiding the blog - but rather that dear old blogger has been having a few posting issues. But still, here, again, some finished things.

First off, some charity knitting - small things, to make into key rings (and I really must try and remember who they are for, and where I am meant to send them). And evidence of multi-tasking ('cos I is female, and apparently we is good at the multi-tasking). Three little socks, which are my 'class' socks from Cat Bordhi's 'New Pathways for Sock Knitters', and a sweet little jumper, in horrible, horrible acrylic.

(Do I like Cat Bordhi's new book? Yes, I suppose I do. Some very fun patterns, well laid out, couple of very useful tips, very good support via Cat's website. Overall an interesting addition to the library.)

(And I would like to point out that the hatred for acrylic is very much a personal thing - I just don't work well with it. My tension goes to pot, the knitting looks a mess, the squeaking sets me on edge, and it just generally makes me manky and sweaty. And there is part of me that wishes I could work well with with much of the man-made - as some of it does look very nice. But I can't.)

And now, onto some socks. Which in the knitting of, looked most interesting, and not a little scurrilous. But now they are finished (and worn), though they are warm and functional and fit, they have rather flopped. And the cast off, to make sure they aren't tight, is perhaps just a touch floofy. But I shan't draw any aphorisms, about things which promise, but don't deliver. Because after all, they are just a pair of socks.

And finally, to something pretty, but pretty useless (for me). A pair of Selbuvotter mittens (I love the Selbuvotter book, I love the concept that a whole knitting tradition can be traced to one person, I love the work that Terri Shea has put into writing this book, and I love how generous Terri has been in acknowledging all the work of so many others, past and present, in the creation of this book). In fact, they are Annemor 4 - the dog mittens. Worked with just 2 lovely balls of Jamieson's Shetland Spindrift, in white and red, because my dog really, really wanted to be loud.

I had so much fun knitting these - they were quick, interesting, challenging enough, but not insanely difficult (and no, you can't see the boo-boos, but there are a couple there, for me to learn from). And completely useless, until I can find someone with hands small enough to fit. I feel another truism coming on....

Last week ....

2007-10-01T17:43:00.001+01:00

was just one of those weeks. One of those weeks, that now that I am 39, I wonder what has happened to my life. (I'm certainly not the international superstar librarian/vet/ballerina that I thought I would be when I was 8. At the ages of 7 and 9, I just mainly wanted to do away with my older brothers.) And I know I seem to be fixated on my age - how *did* I get to 39, just how did that happen - but, joyously, I still seem to be milking the getting of presents somewhat.

So, anyway, last week. It started off with celebrating a friend passing her Viva - another doctor in the very loose academic family - which, of course, involved much high-flying intellectual conversation. And then, increasingly, much toasting and drinking, and possibly a diminution in the tenor of the discourse. (Bless anthropologists, for their ability to keep going for ever and ever, given a fire and enough whiskey, and who cares if we were sitting in the rain, on wet chairs.)

But more importantly, the next day, I reintroduced the newly crowned doctor to yarn. Hooks, though, not needles. (And admonished her soundly, for she had stopped with the hooking, though she now lives in Bristol, and passes their temple of yarn regularly. But now she is hooked again, and I'm sure wouldn't be adverse to my sending her off with a shopping list every once in a while.)

So, the week has kicked off with things intellectual and yarny. Always a good start. And the yarny continued. For next there was a meeting of the local KCG. Where our great and glorious leader told us we would all be working in black and white, and putting on an exhibition in the summer. The standard response to that, of course, is to throw things. But I don't think the yarn hurt too much, and she says that the needle puncture wounds are healing nicely.

And the intellectual continued. For it was the quiz final for our WI federation. (No, we didn't win - but at least this year we didn't quite get threatened with being thrown out for disruptive behaviour. But how can you resist acting out the answers in the Heraldry identification round - and my Lion Rampant was considered a triumph.)

So far, so fairly regular. But midnight saw things moving a little more unusally. For, of course, it was the Halo 3 release. Will Master Chief win? Will Cortana stay evil, or see the error of her ways? Will I survive being in a small intimate gaming shop with so many spotty boys dressed in combat gear? Will I ever get my tv back? ('Can I play Halo now?' 'Yes, you *may*, but only after you've done the washing-up.' Actually, it sort of works quite well, as a way of getting out of housework.)

So Wednesday was spent balling up, by hand, a most beautiful present (while shouting 'Go left, no left, you idiot. Move, now, oh look, you died. And now you have to start all over again.'). Nearly a whole mile of navy blue laceweight.

A present, all the way from the Faroes, from Wye Sue. Who somehow just seemed to know that I don't have nearly enough on the needles. And that the lack of lace in my life was ludicrous. (But as always, once balled, the laceweight, she has to sit there, until inspiration strikes. Gradually collecting cat hair.)

So far, so good. Until Thursday, when strange and fascinating blogging connections all got just a little six degrees. For it turns out that one of the bloggers I got to know through the Knitting Olympics (she got a medal, I didn't, and no I'm not bitter at all) not only used to live 5 minutes away from where I am now, but is that daughter of a member of my local WI. And she was up, visiting. So we got together. And I had one of the funniest, easiest, most interesting evenings I have had for a long time. Meeting An Elegant Sufficient, in the live flesh, was a delight. And then Gill went and topped it all, by giving me yarn. And things to do things to the yarn with. A sumptuous skein of Knit Picks sock yarn, and a bunch of Kool-Aid to dye it with!

Though I must admit, I am a little afeard of the powder packets, given that even though they are still sealed, and not sweetened, I'm getting an anticipatory sugar high off of them! So, if I am seen wandering around with berry-cherry stained hands for the next few days, it is all Gill's fault.

And the week was topped off with an minor emergency visit to the Vet, when one of the beasts (the one pictured at the top of the post, the one looking all butter wouldn't melt) decided to get conjunctivitis. I swear they do it on purpose. I swear they get together, and decide it is time for one of them to get something minor and irritating, but expensive. I swear that they were plotting, while I was out eating posh fish and chips, playing with humans, that I needed to be punished for returning past their dinner time (as if they piles of protest hair balls weren't enough).

And the week came to an end, as I battered some slate paving stones (and yes, I did manage to break one by jumping on it too much) into the dead lawn, in a pair of swanky new spotty wellington-boots, just so I could get to the new compost bin without wading through mud. While waiting for my house-mate extraordinaire to finish making madeleines.

I don't know that I ever had a very clear idea of where I would be by the age of 39, of the kinds of things I woud be doing. But I don't think I imagined this.

the animal edition

2007-09-18T12:38:00.000+01:00

Because I promised, and because I am in love with them, herewith prawn pr0n and sheep. (And a cat, being a prawn.)

So first, and look carefully, for there is a delicate crocheted prawn - with antenna - nestling among the sugar prawn sweets. A prawn, when seen, that I practically wrested untimely from its maker's hands. (Actually, I did trade for them, with some shockingly pink Rowan something or other. Which, fortunately, the lovely and kind Marie (non-blogging, but deeply talented) likes - shockingly pink, that is.) And after losing prawn at least twice at knit club that night, he did finally make it home, to be sewn onto a brooch back, and then carefully placed to adorn my coat. But do you remember those shockingly sugary prawn sweets? Well, I couldn't resist buying a packet, just to see what they were like. And to know, now, in my growing dotage, that I much prefer the crocheted kind. (Though I would never say no to a bowl of perhaps delicately garlic and chili scented finger dripping loveliness of the real kind.)

Happily, fortuitously, Prawn then got a friend, to keep him company. For the deeply talented Mary-Lou, in a moment of incredible kindness, and stunning organisation, sent a little care package my way for my recent birthday. (Which arrived, on the day itself. More than anything I got from either of my brothers. Though one of them did call that evening, and sing a stunningly drunken and out-of-tune song to me. And even though the singing was shockingly bad, the fact that he remembered, for the first time in over a decade, was more of a shock.) So Sheep arrived. And where better to put Sheep, than next to Prawn, on my coat.

Mary-Lou also had the intelligence to send chocolate (well, of course it isn't still around), and a delightful book on shoes. (By the way, I have become so attached to my farting shoes, that I now have three pairs. Such joy and bouncy comfort do they bring to my life. And so much fun to wear, especially when chairing meetings of my local WI.)

What brings me even more delight are the looks I get, with Prawn and Sheep on my coat. The looks, as people stare, double-take, and stare again (hey, their eyes are up and to the left of where they sometimes are, which is always an improvement). And sometimes even have the bravery to ask questions, in a 'Is that a..., well, no, it couldn't be..., is it really...,' kind of way. Don't you just love having talented friends?

And finally, one of the dreaded beasts. Doing her best to imitate a prawn. Looking innocent. No at all as if she had been hairballing with a vengeance recently, in an attempt to get the premium, ridiculously over-priced cat food, rather than supermarket own-brand. (One small bit of success, though. For we are starting to wean her off her cravings for raw potato peelings - though she isn't so keen on summer varities, and really isn't a fan of new potatoes, she is a King Edward girl all that way - and have discovered that cucumber peel is an almost acceptable alternative.)

Still to come, mitten (and now mi), and more pressies - something from the very prescient Wye Sue (owner of the niftiest combinations I have seen, ever) who just knew that I need something to kick start the lace.

And Avast, ye land-lubbers, for tomorrow, 19th of the fair month of September, is of course, Talk Like a Pirate Day. (Lookie, lookie, Mary-Lou even has appropriate clothing for you!) Arrrr!

(edited because I can't spell today)

it was a 'special' day yesterday

2007-09-09T23:25:00.000+01:00

And I forgot to mention it. It was, in fact, Wye Sue's Birthday. (Mine too, as it turns out.)

And I got mighty spoilt, for I received cards, and presents (details to come, but many, many thanks, Mary-Lou). And I took myself off to go and see the KCG - which is code for spending money on things knitterly. And then I took myself off to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, to eat bambi and cranberries and ice-cream, and be stilled in awe by the Andy Goldsworthy exhibition.

And seeing as it is birthday season, the last of my recent birthday knits:

Seemingly, a rather strange thing - but in fact a version of Elizabeth Zimmermann's 'Very Warm Hat' (from 'The Opinionated Knitter').

Knit in just over one ball of Jaeger cashmina (the grey), and using that darned Buffalo gold yarn for the brown. And after all the possibly snitty things I may have said about Buffalo gold, I have got to say that it is beautiful to work with. Because it feels like your hands are running through the softest undercoat of your favourite pet (but without all the requisite wet dog smell). And it does knit up ridiculously warm and soft. So I shall cherish my memories of working with this yarn, because unless I get very, very rich, I shall never work with it again. (Oh, and the problem with birthday knits, is it helps to check the head size you are knitting for before you are nearly finished, so that you have to start all over again, and end up washing and blocking the hat at 4.30am, to be given, still damp, at noon the next day.)

Many thanks for the kindness about the tea-pot cozy. The latest report is that it is now completely liberated from the tea-pot, and has become the hat-du-jour for the twins. Which is delightful, but does mean that when I visit for tea, my tea will still be cold. So my cunning plan went awry. Again.

Amy, I wish there had been a pattern, it would have made life much easier - but instead I just cannabalised one of the frilly neck/cuff patterns out of Nicky Epstein's 'Knitting Beyond the Edge' (which has some very, very beautiful things in it), and topped it off with a selection of her flower patterns from the same book. The thing which saved me was knitting the base in a lovely, forgiving, elastic 100% shetland wool yarn, which meant I could get it good and wet, and stretch it heinously, and block it fiercely on the tea-pot itself, because of course, not starting with a swatch, it was slightly too small. (Everything I make tends to be either slightly too small, or slightly too large. My inability to judge size correctly must be related to my refusal to accept that I am no longer a size 8, or even vaguely near to a size 8, and haven't been for the past 20 years.)

Right, now that I am older, I must away to bed, for the midnight bells have struck. But still to come are prawns, and mitten and socks in a myriad of sizes. And a sheep. Can't wait...

not blogging, been knitting

2007-09-04T16:39:00.000+01:00

And so, may I present, the 'Functionally Frou-Frou Teapot Cozy':

Behold, first, in its pinning on of the insane, using up lots of yarn oddments, flowers. Hmm, fun. (And many thanks for Hiding Pup, for the sewing up of the insane flowers.)

Then, the side view. Note the functional frills - for added insulation. And the flower topping, for added insulation, and added frou-frou. (Note, as well, how flower placement decided to change. Gah, you try to plan something, and do you think it behaves...)

And finally, the top - if only Carmen Miranda had liked flowers instead of tropical fruit - view.

The teapot has been presented, accepted, and used. More importantly, no sooner had young god-daughter and twin sister seen teapot cozy, than they did what every sensible, and fashion-conscious, 18 month old does, which is place cozy on head. Where it looked mighty fetching. (And, gloriously, this has solved all present giving for many years to come. Because the younglings like hats. And I can make hats. And then in a few years I can present them with knitting needles and yarn, and they can make their own hats. Bliss.)

So when I say functional, I actually mean multi-functional, for the cozy can keep warm both tea and tiny tot têtes. I loves a bit of form meets function, I does.

I'm still far, far behind on blogging, and emailing, and just generally things. But in my defense, I have indeed been knitting. So to come, more hats, mitten, the most beauteous crocheted prawn, and an almost completed pair of tumescent socks. Just like buses, you wait forever for one, and then three come at once...

summertime.... so it's time to make cozies

2007-08-06T15:06:00.000+01:00

People cozies, and teapot cozies, that is.

Finally, some shots of the Yoda coat - modelled by Hiding Pup - teamed with its yarn-mate, the My Dear Stalker hat. Both made in glorious Garthenor Organic Jacob.

And the coat may not be pretty (but the buttons are), but it will be absolutely perfect for winter. Because it does what it says on the tin - it will keep me warm, and has places to store things. And I got to work on various techniques while making it, what with those afterthought pockets (lawks a mercy, and blessings on you, Elizabeth Zimmermann, says I as I tug my forelock), short row bust darts (which are just about in the right place), three-needle bind offs on the shoulder.

And dudes, check out those side seams. Finally, I think I may be cracking the mysteries of the sewing up (which is much, much easier in a big chunky wool, 'cause it is so much easier to see things). I am insanely proud of those seams.

Originally, it was a Rowan pattern - Kim Hargreaves' 'Snow', from Rowan 26, but the modifications have made it my own. That, and that the model in the magazine looks cool and interesting and attractively windswept, whereas I look somewhat like a cross between a small child in a home-made Paddington Bear coat, and a muddy Michelin man. But I care not, and when worn with the hat, the Jacob yarn will protect me from all slings and arrows, and any possible name-calling. Because I will be the warmest thing around, and moreover, I will have pockets to put things in.

Second, behold the teapot cozy in progress. A mad confection of frills, which has yet to fall into the knitted flower garden (yes, the pink is going to be covered in knitted roses). The sharp, and assiduous blog-readers among you may recognize the influence of Yarnstorm - for it was her pineapple cozy that is the inspiration. (Yet somehow, Yarnstorm's pineapple cozy has a certain kitsch splendour, whereas mine is, inadvertantly, going for the crocheted toilet roll cover on acid...) I've just got to hope that functionality wins out over lack of taste, and that the soon to be owner (why yes, it is going to be foisted on someone as a birthday present - but they get the tea pot too) can cope with the sheer amount of yardage in the ruffles.

Right, I must go and knit flowers now. And check on the painting of the garage door - child labour you know, such a useful thing (well, it is the summer holidays, and my next-door neighbour gets to look after her grandchildren, and the garage door badly needed doing, and the kids were at a loose end, and it is so much cheaper than paying a grown-up to work. And the littlest one is just about small enough to send up the chimney.)

And then I must go and remove the pillaged bird's nest. Which has been ravaged over the past few nights by killer. Who does not believe in giving her prey a sporting chance. Because where is the fun in that, when she can nip out at night, and catch the birds a-napping. Behold, I am the pawbinger of doom.

And I've got a feeling that I owe quite a few people emails and such. But I've melted my brain, wearing a too warm yoda coat in the finally, it might almost be summer temperatures.

ps - glad you like the sock post, but I am shocked, I tell you, shocked to my core, at how some of you saw such dirty things there. Go and was your minds out with soap.

is it just me....

2007-07-13T14:42:00.000+01:00

.... or does this look like something it shouldn't?

Yup, that's right, a too tight sock. In the latest Socks that Rock Club colourway and pattern.

Have a good weekend, y'all.

ker-nitting, ker-not finishing

2007-07-09T14:48:00.000+01:00

The Cosmos Jacket, she is done. Well, she is knit. And she is now waiting for all the ends to be sewn in, the sleeves set, and the seams sewn up. And then we play the sizing game - will she fit, won't she fit. But a lovely knit to make, where the designer cunningly has you working on lots of techniques, fair isle and intarsia, mattress stitch and picking up. Jamieson's patterns tend to assume a degree on knitting know-how, and I would have been terrified a couple of years ago, worrying about whether I was using the 'right' cast-on, or joining the yarns 'properly'. But with the internet, and an out-of-control book buying habit, knitting has become a more natural craft to me. Just wish I were better at the sewing up! (I found some old junior school reports the other day - apparently, the teacher thought I really, really like sewing. Just because I used to be fastidious about washing my hands every five minutes - meaning less time spent actually sewing - and because I used to take things home, and get mum to do it for me. Because I really, really didn't like sewing. At all.) Oh, and a word of warning - check your yarn amounts. The yarn pack contained much too much of the accent colours, and not quite enough of the main. (But, despair not, for this means I managed to score some free stash yarn, and Jamieson's sent down the extra.)

And even though Cosmos is not quite wearable-finished, my lust for Jamieson's is undiminished, for Winter Sunset is growing fast(ish). I am absolutely hypnotised by fairisle in the round (remind me of that when I get to steeking, and cutting). I love the rhythm, and watching and feeling as my hand dips up and down, main and background, counting each repeat, finishing each row sooner than I think possible. The sense of accomplishment, as each pattern repeat, each row, each block is completed, the tiny sense of loss, as you know that that section is finished, and the anticipation as you look to see what comes next. I know that I am losing all sense of proportion, but it is better than looking up, looking around, and realising you need to do the hoovering, again. So excuse me, while I ignore the world around, and get back to watching a sunset grow.

woolfest and water, water and woolfest

2007-07-02T13:14:00.000+01:00

First, the weather watch section (unfortunately, not a patch on The Iceland Weather Report, but hey). The expected deluge just pretty much, comparatively, tinkled down - so all that nervous anticipation, all that 'blitz spirit' (and I'm never quite sure what to think about that phrase), came to naught. And though it is raining, and thundering right now, the worst of the threat is hopefully over. Which is good - for people are still underwater around the country. And much as the flooding here has been a tragedy for many people, we were relatively lucky. Nothing like the regular flooding in Bangladesh, or the current floods in Pakistan, or what happened after Hurricane Katrina.

But the 'best' news? Decimate can come out to play. For it seems that in Hull, the housing stock, both public and private, was decimated by the flood (though the council wimped out, and just went for the measly 1 in 10!).

But you all want to know about Woolfest. Unfortunately, my official photographer, Hiding Pup, had volunteered to stay at home, and pup the flood barricades (well, and there is no way I was going to be sharing a tent with him - friendship only goes so far). So, really, no pictures (though many of the same people, and animals, were there, so last year's pictures will do - the early July posts. And some of those animals are such regulars, that I swear the minute they see a camera, they start primping and preening, and checking that their locks are in place. Yes, I'm talking about you, the Crookabeck Angoras.)

Well, there was the camping - with Woolly Wormhead and her mother, Gloria, and her aunt, Paula. Fibre people all. And camping people, which is even better, for they brought the goods, the equipment, the tents, and even put up my tent for me! (I, however, arrived with 5 packs of ground coffee, wine, beer, bananas, the largest, thickest duvet around, and 36 kit-kats. I know what my priorities are.) The campsite, Graysonside, is stunning - and comfortable (actual hot, properly hot water in the showers, and cleaner that my own bathroom).

There were people to talk with, into the early hours of the morning - when fellow campers Babylonglegs and Yoshimi came a calling. And Wye Sue dropped by with her spinning wheel. And no, we did not accidentally set fire to a cardboard box in an attempt to keep warm.

There were knit-bloggers to meet (and of course I can't remember their names), and fibres to fondle. There were spinning wheels breeding (nothing else can explain how every time I turned around, there seemed to be more), and people to convert to sock knitting. There were old friends to see - those on the KCG stand, and those on KCG Trading (fortunately they seem to remember me from year to year, which is helpful, as each year I forget my membership card). And, of course, the Jamiesons stand. Which was visited many, many times. Well, they brought a lot with them, and you didn't want to make them carry it all home again, so it was only polite to walk away with a kilo (or 2 or 3 or more), of their yarn.

There were books to buy - Terri Shea's 'Selbuvotter: Biography of a Knitting Tradition', Priscilla A. Gibson-Roberts' 'Ethnic Socks and Stockings', and Veronica Gainford's 'Designs for Knitting Kilt Hose', because I am having an historical moment. (Gloriously, Gainford has her own set of knitting abbreviations, taken from a Victorian, Edinburgh published knitting book. Now I'm fine on 'O', and 'T', but do you know what 'A', 'Ts', 'P', or 'B' stand for?*) There was just a little bit of new and exciting wool to buy - just a little bit of Wensleydale, and a couple of balls of Teeswater, because we need to keep the variety of sheep breeds alive. There was one incredibly dumb purchase. Not because it isn't beautiful, and soft, and gorgeous, and a deep, rich, very animal alive brown colour, and not because the family selling it weren't lovely (come, visit the ranch, we've got room, and beer, and Texan B-B-Q), and not because it isn't always fascinating to see what a different fibre is like. But it was hideously expensive. A single skein of Buffalo Gold sock yarn - enough to make one (yes, just one) adult anklet sock. Or something else, I am sure. Perhaps something framed, behind glass, with an alarm system, to prevent theft, 'cos it ain't called buffalo gold for nothing.

My overall impressions of Woolfest 2007. Socks, spinning and felting. Gone were the innumberable hanks of variegated lace-weight which were everywhere last year. Up was the amount of roving to be had. And weaving is creeping in with just a little bit more strength. There is still a little bit of an issue with a couple of places vastly underpricing their goods - a stall may be showcasing an organisation, but when a delicately smocked child's coat dress, in hand spun, and two colours, is selling for only £35, or a beautiful, tiny, knitted and beaded purse sells for £10, it impacts on all those who are trying to make a living from their craft. But overall, Woolfest goes from strength to strength, and the members of Woolclip are keeping a close watch on the feel and identity of their festival.

And I leave you with a photo of my last purchase. A few stones from the Cumbrian felt wall (being sold for charity). Who could resist taking home a bit of dry stone walling, especially when being sold by a young girl, whose pitch includes telling you how they are 'safe stones to throw, because they won't break any windows, because they aren't actually real'. And because I wanted to see what the cats would do to them. (So far, the stones are still intact, but they have been sniffed, prodded, sat out, scent-marked, and are currently being ignored.)

And I'll see you all at Woolfest 2008.

* O - yarn over
T - knit two together
A - slip stitch, knit two together, pass slipped stitch over
Ts - slip stitch, knit 1, pass slipped stitch over
P - plain stitch (knit)
B - purl stitch

I want ....

2007-06-28T16:40:00.000+01:00

.... to thank our dearly beloved Yorkshire Water, for having the prescience in signing me up to a free, three-month sewer and drain damage insurance policy. Amazing, that the letter was sent out on Thursday 21st June, and the great deluge hit us on Sunday/Monday 24th/25th June. (Where I live was hit quite badly this week, fortunately our house was, just, safe, just a minor roof leak, and a little bit of toilet backing up downstairs, but enough are still under water. Blueadt, who has a swanky new mobile phone, took many, many pictures.) Just who are their weather forecasters? They should get a pay rise. Ah, but the best thing about this free, try-it-and-see insurance policy. You can't make any claims for anything that happened before 5th July.

.... to have a wedding. With ceremonial swords. Because for the really very reasonable sum of £39 extra, you can get up to £20,000 of cover for ceremonial swords. Just what do they anticipate happening with the ceremonial swords? Do you get someone in from the Confrérie du Sabre d'Or, who attacks the toasting champagne, sending the cork flying off, to great applause, but it lands on top of the wedding cake, which topples, tipping the flower-ringed candle over, which sets fire to the crepe swags, which in turn ignites the immense amount of hair-spray vapour in the marquee, and as the fire brigade arrive, to drench all the guests in water, they run over the castle owner's prize Chinese Crested Dog (nothing fatal - just put him off his stride a little) which was on its way to a highly lucrative stud assignation. And all this from having a ceremonial sword or two at the wedding. (Oh, and not to mention that in the whole basic wedding insurance package, they'll even pay for your counselling, but only if the wedding doesn't take place. But if you are getting married soon - Good Luck!)

.... to stay dry this weekend. Even though the Met Office is predicting more heavy, heavy rain. Because someone has decided that I must go camping, in order to attend Woolfest. (The one and only time I have ever camped was in a friend's backgarden at the age of 8. Memorable because they had broad bean plants in their garden. And we had just 'studied' broad bean anatomy and reproduction at school. So we spent the whole evening, in a state of high giggles, just this side of mass hysteria, comparing the anatomy of a broad bean, and its reproductive cycle, to that of humans. Urgh, men, urgh, gross, giggle, giggle, giggle. Parents screaming to get us to shut up. I wonder why I never went camping again.) So hopefully I won't be washed down a mountain, with a precious skein of hand-dyed lace-weight clutched in my teeth, as the hills resound with the sounds of knitters all crying 'Save the Wool! Save the Wool!'.

.... my new, just finished Yoda coat (though it will probably be more Kenny from South Park coat - the hood looks worrying) to dry in time for said camping. Because I need something to wrap up in to keep warm. Because I've been told that campsites don't tend to have central heating.

.... finally, for my house to stay dry this weekend too, though as I am leaving Hiding Pup in charge, I have every confidence that it will be. But I might just move some things (the stash) upstairs, just to be extra safe. And it would be no great loss to humankind if the living room carpet had to be replaced.

this is not....

2007-06-22T13:32:00.001+01:00

... a cow. Even though she eats a cow's worth of grass, and other assorted vegetables (I'm currently trying to wean her off raw potato peelings onto carrot peelings, but somehow the orange doesn't appeal.)

... a sign of affection. Though I suppose, grudgingly, they are quite fond of each other. (Mainly because the not a cow has a habit of not finishing her cat food, giving the not affectionate one ample opportunities to grab some sneaky extra helpings.)

... asleep. This is 'being' asleep, with the paw over the nose actively keeping those eyes shut, because it is daylight outside, and one wouldn't want to be awake in the daytime, because that would interfere too much with dawn and dusk hunting activities. (Though she has a spangly new collar, with a bell on it, which has dramatically reduced the number of huntees.)

This, you may have noticed, is not a post about knitting. This is because no photographs of knitting have been taken recently. Because I cannot quite face all 48 knitted and decorated butterflies just at the moment, and because I had yarn quantity issues with the Cosmos Jacket.

Many thanks for all your generous comments about the Cora Shawl - she shall have an outing soon.

cora filed

2007-06-11T22:17:00.000+01:00

Finally, at last, the Cora/Neapolitan Ice Cream Shawl is done. Not just done with the knitting, but done with the washing, the blocking, even done with the photo-ing. Done, done, and ready to be done with as I please, and if that means wadding it up into a ball, dumping it on top of the filing cabinet, and forgetting about it for months, it is done to be done with. (The fact that I might just be waiting for an invite to an 'event' - and I'm really not fussy here, any kind of 'event', which involves hanging around until the summer evenings turn cool, and something simple must needs be draped to keep me warm, and I can pretend that I am elegant, really, really shouldn't have anything to do with whether I wear Cora or not, but hey, I'm only human, and I want to show it off at somewhere a little bit nicer than the local pub.)

The facts:

Can't remember when I started Cora, but it was sometime this year, and, even more amazingly, she has only been hanging around since I bought her at the Harrogate Knitting and Stitching show last November. (The shawl pin, shown below, also came from the same show, but you think I can remember from whom?)

It is, but of course, a Sharon Miller design (though not her colours, which were just a little too pink), goddess of all things lacy.

A remarkably trouble free knit - which is down to two reasons. Shetland wool, baby (Jamieson's Ultra, this time) - my choice of desert island yarn, no matter the weight, because it just grabs me, baby. And the good luck knitting markers from Mary-Lou, which have stuck with this project from the very start (scroll down to seem them in action). Not that I believe in luck, but the lack of dropped stitches, come blocking time, has got to be down to something....

A couple of other thoughts. First, may I never see feather and fan again, or at least for a long, long time. Yes, pretty, yes, effective, yes, simple to learn. But on a round of close to 1,000 stitches, and may the knitting saints forgive me, but more boring that purling close to 1,000 stitches. And second, the shawl is large (just over 5 foot square, and it could have gone further), I am short (just, just over 5 foot, and some people still owe me an eating of their hat, because I broke the 60 inches), so in the triangular shot, the dreaded pointing finger of look, look, large ass(crack) here is avoided. Yippee.

So I leave you with some photos, the obligatory cat claiming ownership;

the laundry line shot;
the close up, with adornment;
and the imagine a person inside the elegant drape shot;

And I think, in honour of the luck that Mary-Lou's stitch markers brought, I shall rename her 'The Wimseycal Shawl'.

scene of crime reconstruction

2007-05-31T14:49:00.000+01:00

Yes, yes, well all know how useless I have been recently. But it isn't my fault, 'cos I have been drowning in a sea of home baked cookies and rock buns (Yarnstorm's rock buns - seriously good, and if I may have spun a few stories about how she seduced her husband with them, mea culpa, but it certainly helped in their selling), second hand books, marmalade, and knitted butterflies. For 'tis the season to be standing on market stalls, raising money for whatevers. And the season is not quite over yet, for the children at school of knit (the genius idea of Blueadt, which is much fun, but costs us a fortune in breadsticks - used to stop that post school lack of energy crash, 'cos we vetoed the sweets and chocolate, and fruit is too messy - as well as the hi-larious sight of breadsticks as chopsticks, breadsticks as knitting needles, breadsticks in ears, breadsticks up noses, and the perennial favourite of breadsticks as vampire fangs, which is just as funny as it was a year and a half ago) still have their summer fair to come. What's that? My crystal ball is saying it can see me sitting in the wee small hours, sewing buttons onto butterflies, and butterflies onto brooch and barette and bangle backs.....

But in between all this rampant capitalism, other things have been happening. First, I have been seduced by the eternally perky Flo, (yes, my life is not complete, unless I am serving screaming cell-phone users, being barked at by bossy business ladies, and cleaning up after caterwauling children). And second, there has indeed been some knitting. For the semi-big news is the neapolitan ice-cream shawl is finished, just awaiting blocking (and purchase of accompanying real neapolitan ice-cream).

And finally, with the aid of the amazing dust/fibre/hair/fluff-ball finding and creating cats (just give me a rug, any rug, any carpet, any chair, for I must to sharpen my claws. Holes, what holes, I can't see no holes, no, that isn't a hole, in a rug, just beside me, with a pile of pulled up fibre beside it, and gosh, how did that bit of carpet get in my claws), I have been playing at CSI. For I have been stringing, reconstructing the scene of the crime, the moment of impact, the point of pointlessness. With ... wait for it ... up to 25 different bits of string in any one row.

Behold, I bring you the back of Jamieson's Cosmos Jacket. With cat. And tangles.

Aren't cats helpful.

missing in action

2007-05-07T15:31:00.000+01:00

and I could show you the pile of flithy used tissues, to justify my absence, but you don't want to see that, do you. (Anyway, I'm an old fashioned hanky user - every xmas I pretend I am a man, and put a box of nice, new, man sized handkerchiefs in my paltry xmas stocking. When you were little, didn't you think it was so awful, how your parents used to get things like socks, and underwear, and hankies for xmas? And how it was worse than unforgiveable, when you got them too? Oh, but I know I am getting old, when I start to think how lovely it would be, to get a pack of M&S functional, comfortable knickers in my stocking.) And worse, it seems that there is something strange going on, in the knitting pantheon, that everytime I get close to actually finishing a shawl, I get bronchitis (for evidence, the olympic knit, that nearly finished me). But the ice-cream shawl, she is nearly to the edging, and if I am good today, then the end is in sight.

But I do have something to show you. To make up for my being ill, and just in time for summer (and to make me feel better for being too ill to make it down to London, to play with my frog bag owner - apparently, a big hit, and just the right thing for nearly 5 years old J.J.O. to carry his sunglasses, lip salve, and money for ice-cream, when down at the local paddling pool). Behold, I bring you 'My Dear Stalker', by the fabulous Woolly Wormhead. And hopefully, she won't mind that I made a few alterations - making it extra, extra large in gorgeous organic pure Jacob wool, from Garthenor Organics, adding a crochet brim, and then felting the f***ker. So, some before and after shots:

(yes, that is a partial picture of my, still in my pjs)

(what, you are meant to be able to see when wearing a hat?)

(the washing machine didn't eat it)

(the ears, the ears, just right to protect you from the sounds of the bells, the bells)

Now, this hat is meant to be from one of my big brothers, but it is so lovely, that I'm not sure I can bear to part with it. For it is warm, and cosy, and slightly not quite 'normal'. And when you wear the ears down, they swing comfortingly from side to side as you walk, and you get to feel just like a bloodhound working for Sherlock Holmes. Not quite clever enough to solve the crime, but you know you'll be crucially helpful to the case.

Finally, you may notice that I have changed the template - I have somehow managed to pass 100 posts. And this means that all my carefully collected side-bar delights have etherized. Oh, well. So I'll try and work on those, and get them back ('cos I love housekeeping so). And apologies, for all those who tried to listen to Monsieur M.C. Nuts - well, the sound worked for me!

I shall return, with tales of ice cream shawls, and socks in progress and local elections. Bet you can't wait.

may I present....

2007-04-13T23:54:00.000+01:00

MC Nuts and the Wordsworth Rap.

(If you want to know more, go here. If you want an alternative take on Wordsworth and his daffodils, try Yarnstorm.)

Ladies and Gentlemen, I share this with you only because I consider it my duty, a matter of vital public interest, and because I have no knitting to show. Because who can knit, when MC Nuts is in the house?

(And a confession, I have never read the original - must have been ill that day at school.... preferring the metaphysicals myself, being all pretentious and good educated as what I am.)

I feel like there is something I've forgotten...

2007-04-02T18:11:00.000+01:00

oh yes, that's it, the blog. It isn't that I mean to forget, but since we went and had an hour taken away from us (I know, I know, there are some of you out there who think it is the most heinous thing ever, daylight savings, and I agree, I hate the stealing of an hour, but I do so love these brighter evenings,), I've sort of got distracted. Including, to the scratchy pain of my arms, scalping the holly bush, and then playing third witch on the left, as I beat the cuttings down into the bin with a stick.

But, in the recall of my forgetfulness, I thought I would share with you a last year finished object. Some may remember the excitement of the coffee bags. And the trepidation with which the sewing machine entered my life. Because, despite all fears to the contrary, I did indeed manage to co-ordinate coffee bag, sewing machine, and yarn (beautiful, Woolly Wormhead yarn). And made the world's largest, and possibly most impractical, bag ever.

But since then, I have found a use for The Bag. The most perfect use, one which matches in size, in concept, in material, and, astonishingly, in colour. For The Bag is the perfect thing to put a cardigan in. Not a finished cardigan, but a cardigan in construction. Where the texture of the coffee bag matches the texture of the shetland wool - light, airy, but with a distinctly pleasing subtle scratch. Where the insane depth of The Bag itself eats comfortably all the needed balls of yarn, where the clever little pocket I (yes, me, all by myself) installed holds pens, pencils, bits of note paper, markers, scissors, and even wound-up spare circulars. And the final serendipitous concatenation? The colours match.

Now, I must run away - for I am also concocting peculiar things with frames and bits of cotton string. So far, no tangles, but there is time yet.

Oh, yes, a final plea. Does anyone know of a bell that could be put on a cat collar? We can cope with the mice, and the tragic occasional bird (because the birds are learning, and getting better at warning that a cat is loose in the garden), and the collar does already rattle, with tags and labels and jingle-jangle noises, but how do you warn butterflies that they must flee the evil stalking kitten?

how do you know....

2007-03-20T13:22:00.000Z

when your housekeeping is being called into question? When your cat chooses to projectile vomit deliberately down the side of the almost built in fridge, in order to make you clean the kitchen 'properly'. And all before you've had your first cup of coffee. Ay, me.

Turns out, I have been in a rather grumpy grey mood lately, which is why I haven't been around. And it doesn't seem quite fair to share tales of disgruntled stomping and wooden spoon bashing, when I know tales of ridiculously picky cats (the food had tuna in it, she likes tuna, if she wasn't neutered, and could open the cupboard, I'm sure she would make love to the tuna fish cans, but it turns out she really, really doesn't like the red mullet that came with the tuna. As she has demonstrated, quite stickily and visibly, every time she has tried the delicious red mullet and tuna) and felted frogs.

So, a quick catch up. And behold, a kitten en repose with a felted frog (I don't think she likes it, do you? Oh, and please ignore the dying plant.)

But despite the general tone of heading for a meltdown (dealt with this weekend last, and very cathartic too, if not a little scary for others), I have managed to find time to do some fun things. For I was very kindly given permission to gate-crash SkipNorth07, the annual event when knitters descend on Brontë country, and scare both the locals and the visitors (as it turns out, nothing clears the common rooms in a Youth Hostel faster than a bunch of knitters laying out their wares). I had arranged an assignation with WoollyWormhead and WyeSue to meet the SkipNorthers at the KCG, to lay waste to their yarn mountain. And, of course, drool over some of the KCG collection. I had also arranged to enable young Amore (who had been good, and travelled by train, and therefore had only limited yarn and fibre carrying capacity), by offering to drive her first day's yarn purchases home. (And yes, I did hand over her goodies, unmolested and intact. And yes, my halo is looking shiny right now.) The SkipNorthers looked like they were having a fantastic time, where ideas were exchanged, new skills learnt, old skills passed on, and most importantly friendships created and reaffirmed. And the local yarn stores they visited have, by all accounts, begun to recover from their ravishing. (And I met many others, including many I have met before, and as usually useless didn't take/remember names, sorry, and I'll do better next time.)

What else, what else, oh yes, some knitting, in gloriously fat Jacob wool, still slightly infused with its lanolin. To make a gloriously comfortable, functional, long, pocketed cardigan. In which I have worked not only short row bust darts, which I hope are not place around my navel (no comments about the natural proclivities of gravity on older wobbly bits, without the benefit of fabric and wire engineering), but also short row 3-needle bind off shoulders! And on this triumphant note, I shall run away, and go and do something productive. Which might involve knitting.

can't come to the computer right now....

2007-02-26T14:01:00.000Z

'cos the 3 needle cast off is kicking my butt. 'Cos as you may notice, I seem to be using about 8 needles. And I have pinned myself to the sofa (some may say nothing new there).

But, this means that the evil jumper for my godson is back underway. Sleeve island is the next stop.

The frog bag felted beautifully, consultation has been taken on eye placement, and all that is waiting is to persuade the model to model for the photoshoot (cat treats may be involved).

See you when I've broken free.

and actual finished things

2007-02-07T17:58:00.000Z

A pair of Whitby Socks - from Nancy Bush's 'Knitting on the Road' (and a kitten-no-more-but-still-tiny for scale). And the amazing part? They took all of four days gentle knitting. Because they are in bigger wool. Bigger, beautiful Socks that Rock mediumweight. Only 51 stitches around. And all I want to know is, what on earth took me so long, to work out that bigger wool on smaller projects equals much, much faster. Happy, toasty new socks for February's chill. Yippee.

And a second thing, in really not long at all (though I'll admit that it isn't quite, quite finished). Instead of finishing a small jumper for my now 4 1/2 year old god son (which was due for his 4th birthday), I decided that I would make him a felted frog handbag. Well, I'll tell him it is a satchel (but then again, doesn't every self-respecting metrosexual 4 1/2 year old really need a handbag). From Nicky Epstein's 'Fabulous Felted Bags'. And bar the finishing, a very quick knit. And because it is due to be felted, mistakes aren't that important. So again, Yippee. There was a slight hiatus in the knit, because Jamieson's had been selling yarn kits based on erroneous gauge info in the book, which meant I was a little short. But Jamieson's came through for me, and sent down, free, enough red to finish making the frog's tongue. And I fudged around a little, making the yarn stretch by switching to a slightly stripy handle. Which I think gives it a manly touch (just to keep his daddy happy, because I am going to have so much fun teasing his daddy about his son's handbag).

(That Jamieson's might also have sent down some other bags of yarn is neither here nor there. But I just got to say, I'm loving the slightly stiff, dense, this is real wool you are working with feel, and the rich depth to the colours of their dk weight.)

So all I have to do is sew up the bag, cross my fingers for the washing machine (front loading felting is such a leap of faith), and then finish that acursed jumper.

And to remember, when discussing homophones with a bunch of 8-11 year olds, not to let them come up with their own. I must be old, not to have realised how hysterically funny we and wee are, let alone Pooh and poo, and to have forgotten quite how piercing the hysterical laughter of 8-11 year olds is. All this in an after school knit club.

(And Susanne - yes, you are so right about using a nice plain, smooth cotton as waste yarn. I really ought to get some one of these days!)

actual knitting content

2007-01-26T16:02:00.000Z

And you thought I'd forgotten how to knit - while I just thought I had done something truly awful to the knitting gods, given the parlous state of my finishing ability. But, after giving up in disgust on just about everything already on the needles, I actually managed to find a relatively small project, and finish it. So, a pair of fair isle fingerless mittens. Adapted from Ann Feitelson's 'The Art of Fair Ilse Knitting' (wonderful book, even though some parts make my brain ache). Adapted because duh, when you make a pair of mittens for your own, small hands, don't just blindly, blitheringly use a pattern designed for a nice, large, male hand. (They are still just a tad too large in places, but hey, something finished. And I say pah to blocking).

And what have I learnt? Well, I can indeed knit in a piece of waste yarn, and then pick up from it (thumbs, baby, thumbs). But it is so much easier to pick up, if the pick up row is one colour only. 'Cos when it is a sweet little two colour, alternating stitches in closely matching heathers row, you end up trying not to get tangled in what in an otherwise normal round would be the itsy bitsy floats. Funnily enough, good light helps too.

But what I also learnt? They were quick. (Okay, so comparison knitting is lace shawls, long socks, ganseys....) And they were fun. And they used stash. Sort of. And they are warm. Which is all good.

But I have been knitting other things, too. New things. (I'm not knitting old things, because everything is in time out. Everything. And not solely because of user error.) Below, behold, the boiled ass lace (there are many reasons to thank Rabbitch, not least her way with words) that is my version of Sharon Miller's Cora Shawl. Which is now into the interminable feather and fan. But, as it turns out, I appear to be knitting an ice cream coffee break. Because somehow I appear to be knitting neapolitan ice cream, with a large side order of iced coffee with whipped cream. (And can you explain why I eat more ice cream in winter than in summer?)

Ah-ha, but you are more interested in that stitch marker? It is a chinese luck ball (okay, so you tell me what they are called - but that whole one ball inside another ball thing, carved out of one piece). Part of a beautiful set from Mary-Lou, who shares my loves of all things Peter Wimsey (a reference involving chess-sets, presents, searingly romantic love, and a life that will never be mine). And I have to say that they do seem to be bringing me luck on this particular knit. For so far, nothing has gone wrong. I have not pulled the stitches off the needles. I have not screwed up the pattern. I have not switched needle size mid-knit. And I have not run out of yarn. Perhaps all that was missing in my life was the right stitch marker.....

Finally, I'm glad you enjoyed my tale of farting shoes (go on, say it, it's fun), and be assured that there are always days when farting shoes are not only desirable but necessary. Farting shoe days are the kinds of days the see me ending up with one third of a sawn up bath panel sitting in my hall way. The days that see me begging a friend to stick back a bit of the roof with duck tape are farting shoe days. And when the cats sleep on just the left side of my back, causing great, uneven pain - yes, a farting shoe day.

ps - For those who asked, Kim being the latest, the Wedding Ring Shawl is still alive. Just in long term hiatus. It sits besides its cone, on my desk, reminding me daily that it is still there (perhaps this is why I have been avoiding my desk). And it will get done. But I'm happy for the shawl to wait, because that kind of knit should be done with a joy and a lightness in the heart. And any decisions to be made about the fellowship of the ring shawl blog can wait indefinitely, too. Because the wonderful Snow, my fellow fellowship of the ring shawl knitter, has been having such a grim time of it over the past few months. And it is far more important for Snow to find her joy and lightness again.

which shoes ....

2007-01-11T22:40:00.000Z

get me more strange looks, and occasional interesting comments in public?

Why yes, of course, the pair of I'm not really a nearly 40 year old lime green Converse.

So, the background is, well, you all know how you have a pair of shoes, boots, whatever, which are your comfortable, and not completely shabby, going out for the day shoes. Shoes which have held up well, coped with all the perils of daily shoely life, survived deep puddles, grey snow, dog mess, broken pavements, and bubble gum. Shoes which have even survived the one cat's need to remove shoes to a place of privacy, so she can inhale long and deep on the aroma that comes from well-loved shoes. (This cat eats raw potato peelings, so the fact that she wants to stick her head in a trainer should come as no great shock.) But the shoes, they are coming to an end. Still comfortable for an hour or two, but just one day at a yarn show drops a hint that you might just need to wear something else. (The yarn show was in London, and only one pair of shoes, valuable suitcase space, yadda, yadda.) And when your delightful hosts suggest taking you out (actually out, where someone else does the cooking, and the cleaning, and brings you nice things like wine, and keeps filling your glass up, that kind of out), and you ask how far the eating-out place is, and if you can go on your hands and knees, because, well, your feet are threatening all kinds of civil law suits, you know it is time to find some new shoes.

So, the next day, you crawl to the nearest shoe store, full of fancy London types (I'm down from the sticks, you must remember), all looking young, and trendy, with hair and make-up and perfume and fashion and dinky little bags and feet of iron, you realise this isn't a place that is going to sell 'sensible' shoes. And then you remember those All Stars from your youth, how all the trendy girls at your school had them, and how mum was just the absolute meanest, meanest, why didn't she understand, she just didn't care that you had spent all your pocket money on Adam Ant records and posters, and she just wants everyone to laugh at you 'cos your shoes are wrong, and she doesn't care, and if you don't have a pair of Converse right, right now you will just absolutely, completely die. And then that little mist comes down, accompanied by the realisation that there is a credit card in your bag, you do need a pair of new shoes, and they do look as if they would be comfortable, and no-one can say nay.

So you come out with a natty pair of lime green Converse. Which go so incredibly well with your hand-knit socks. And you bounce. You really, really do bounce. (You also tend to go a bit pigeon-toed, because not only are they flat, they are completely and utterly flat, without useful things like arch support. Don't believe me - check out that bouncy, knock-kneed walk that identifies a Converse wearer.) You start getting all yea, whateva, and you even bounce through puddles. (Point to remember - Converse uppers are fabric, and not entirely waterproof, and nor are the helpful little eyelet breathing holes.) And they are great. You have hours of fun, playing with the laces, and bouncing. And they become your new, favourite shoes. Because you didn't just have a birthday which took you really quite dangerously close to 40. Because you are young, not just young at heart. And you go on bouncing. And you go on bouncing with the handknit socks. And you start wearing them all day. And then you bounce home from an evening with friends, when you sat on the floor and ate cheap plastic sponge fingers and drank whiskey and beer and wine, and teased the cats with catnip, and you hear this strange, and strangely regular sound. A little pfthpftht, pfthpftht, pfthpftht, pfthpftht. Which is quite loud. And other people look at you. So you trying skipping, but the pfthpftht, pfthpftht is still there, accompanying the beat as you skip-bounce down the road.

And the next time you wear you new favourite lime green Converse with hand knit socks all day, the same sound is there. And this time you are with knitters. And they laugh at you. And point, and wonder if you had macho beans for dinner. 'Cos the miraculous thing about hand knit wool socks (apart from the miracle that is the heel), is the miraculous thing about wool. How it can absorb water, and still feel warm. How it can absorb water, and not feel wet. And how, at the end of a long day, when you feet just might have felt a little bit toasty warm, and there might also have been a puddle or two, and so your socks might just be a little damp, that that warm, slightly wet wool on the heel rubs up against the back of the nice rubber cradle on the shoe, and with each step you take, your shoes fart.

And of the other shoes - well. What I want to know is, is why women are expected to look all fancy at weddings and such like events, when it is more than likely that this means wearing your fanciest shoes (and yes, The Manolo, he knows how to make a shoe, and I love those shoes with a passion, which is why they only come out for special occasions, and you at the back can behave yourself, because I have, as you very well know, a deeply boring life), and the hosts will always insist on making you walk, stand, manipulate a plate and glass at the same time, expect you to both eat and drink, make interesting and polite conversation with strangers, and try and look vaguely elegant (or at least in ironed and/or matching clothes) on grass. Without sinking. Or spending hours picking off bits of rabbit droppings that have been speared by a very expensive, and very pointy heel.

And finally, the knitting. Which shall not be mentioned, bedeviled as it is by yet more lying ball bands, who declare to be of the same dye lot, yet clearly aren't, because someone must have played shuffle in the yarn store. Which is seen only when the front and the back are just about the be grafted together. So I'm off to post some growth stunting pills to my godson, because I am determined that one day, this jumper shall be finished, and he had better not have grown to big for it.

big head,

2007-01-02T15:46:00.000Z

big head, I've a big head,
my head it is enormous, and is large to look upon.
Jenla, Jenla, they gave me a big head,
now I've got a big head, and the pressure is on.
Big head, big head, I've a big head,
'cos Jenla think I'm funny, and I've got to carry on.
Big head, big head, I've a big head,
now I need to knit more hats, so they fit my giant head.

Those darling, wonderful knottygirls gave me an 'award', in their annual, completely objective, handing out bouquets (and brickbats) session. Go, check it out, find new and interesting and wonderful bloggers (and don't forget to present Jenla with an invoice, for suggesting yet more ways to spend your time not working).

But I'm wondering if I should be miffed, 'cos apparently my deeply heartfelt and completely serious words have been taken awry. Don't they know I live my life as one of mature, reasoned, restrained, utterly rational, tasteful and graceful navel-contemplation.

Ladies, I am honoured. May you not live your 2007 in interesting times.

merry, merry, happy, happy

2006-12-24T15:57:00.000Z

'Tis hoovered, 'tis swept, 'tis dusted, 'tis cleaned (well, only the bits you can see, let us not be over-ambitious). The supermarkets have shut, there is no more shopping to be done. The loaves are baked, filling the house with spelt flour goodness at 2am, and only one ancient loaf tin has died, because I didn't grease it (I know I have more, newer, somewhere, but somewhere is somewhere, and not here). The drinks are stocked, the fridge is full. I am (nearly) booted and suited, all ready to go out and start the actual festivites, having lain in a lowly bath while listening to angelic (ha! I've known a few choir boys in my time) choir boys start the King's College Nine Lessons and Carols.

The tree went up, and came down - cats, shiny glittery things, and climbing opportunities, predictable, of course. The presents are wrapped, with only one little thing left to make (why yes, it does involve yarn). And not even nemesis mouse is around, to stir through the house, on the night before Christmas.

And now, I must go and lie down on the kitchen floor. Because I think I dropped an apple yesterday, and I think it rolled under the washing machine (the kickboards are up, because the cats are convinced something ghastly lives under there - dust balls, mainly - and it is somehow easier to let them roam, than listen to the nightly yowls), but I'm not entirely sure, 'cos I might be imagining it, but then again it could have rolled back and behind and round the corner, and out of reach to rot delicately over the coming weeks. And I shall start my Christmas having quiet hysterics, again, as the world turns on.

To all friends, old and new, real and virtual, to those who do, and those who don't, happy, happy, merry, merry.

please, is it over yet?

2006-12-19T16:58:00.000Z

Yes, yes, so I may in fact have got the 'puter back a couple of weeks ago, but I haven't really been meaning to be so deeply neglectful in my blog feeding. Just that, you know, it is one of those times of year, when everything builds up, and there is too much to do, and then on top of that people keep expecting you to go out and be social. Like buying the evil fake xmas tree for the xmas party wasn't enough (the buying of which involved 2 trips to the same shop, and because the first trip went so horribly, tormentingly wrong, and somehow I managed to emerge bereft of fake tree, but carrying smoke alarms, unbelievably cheap and nasty acrylic yarn, and glitter glue, which is now all over the patio, after 3 hours wandering lost, feeling just a little like a hamster finally released from a laboratory maze, after having defiantly failed to press the red button in order to get the treat, which meant that the second trip saw me being accompanied, for my own good, apparently, by someone who would probably have preferred to have put me in some kind of child's training harness, but instead decided to resort, despite repeated threats of violence involving tinsel sprinkles and wrapping paper, to chanting 'spit, spot' at me). Because then I'm expected to go and decorate it, and the tables, and serve the food, make tea and coffee for 30 rapacious women, and stop our dearly beloved but somewhat exasperating president demand the continued participation of members - average age 79 - in the game of musical statues to a rousing chorus of 'Here we go round the Looby Loo' (for the third time that evening).

But at least I have missed the last post for xmas cards, so I can now throw that annual guiltfest out the window, and resort to the whole hand-delivered only thing (and don't you dare mention that they haven't been written yet, that isn't fair - because the most important card has gone, which is, of course, the one for that delight of a chap who delivers my morning newspaper, regardless).

And of course no xmas knitting will have been done in time, but seeing as intended knitting giftees live on in blind ignorance, it doesn't matter one jot, and I get to work on MY shawl, for MY present to ME.

Oh, and another reason for not feeding the blog - although the computer no longer sounds like a didgeridoo (which I sort of miss), some of the software has gone walkabouts, and until a certain person (who might earlier have been beaten with a swathe of xmas themed tissue paper, for quoting Mary Poppins in inappropriate locations - and when was the last time you read Mary Poppins? One scary lady, scarier even that Dick van Dyke's cockernee accent - finds the disk they borrowed, and photo software is reinstalled, there will be no pictures. Which is a little sad, because that means no pictures of the beauteous and righteous stitch markers that Mary-Lou sent me.

But there has been some action here, when I was still computer-less. The main delight of which is a story involving a bath, tiny, tiny little screws, back spasms, and mass destruction in the house with garden saws. A story to be told another day, when you are all good and quiet little children.

Oh yes, I promised tales of mice and other things. I am sad to say that nemesis mouse has met his end. Because he pushed his luck just once too much, was caught again, lost again, caught again, lost again, formally identified as nemesis mouse - same cocky tilt to his snout, and a butter wouldn't melt twitch to his tale - and I was prepared to give him a third chance. But this time, he chose to hide in a bag of roving (because yes, I am still trying to learn to spin), and that was a step too far. Mice widdling up the curtains I can take (just), but when he sets up shop in hand-dyed roving gifts from the glorious Woolly Wormhead, well, something snaps. And a quick dispatch with the back of a shovel is the result. Warning notices have been posted by the back door, at mice-height.

But, enough. And the sofa and spiffy clean, just been washed, and that evil bastardly washing machine went and slightly felted it, crochet blanket are calling.

incommunado

2006-11-08T16:40:00.000Z

and I had all these tales of nemesis mice, farting shoes, roving, channelling teenagedomhood, and knitting that just won't do what it is told.

Instead, my poor little 'puter is on borrowed time, is feeling very poorly, and needs to go away to have its hard drive seen to. Because hard drives aren't meant to sound like a didgeridoo, no matter how sweet they sound. And waving the laptop around, to make didgeridoo tunes, isn't a good thing.

See you soon.

please, is it Friday yet?

2006-10-27T14:40:00.000+01:00

Because this is the third day since Monday that I have been absolutely convinced that it is Friday, and I just can't be wrong three times, not when I have already spread my everlasting stupidity over a period of weeks.

Evidence of said inane mental babbling? Look no further than eternal gansey. (More examples of general must not be let out in the world alone - I have just not only missed my mouth with the coffee, but in putting the coffee cup down, I watched as in delicate, graceful slow motion an arc of black nectar landing on the keyboard. A tragedy because we are awaiting the next coffee delivery, and are on short rations until I get to mug our rather nice looking parcel delivery man - who has sweet little sideburns, and a dashing ponytail - which saw me close to just using my tongue as a mouth. Enough. Just be thankful that for reasons unknown I hoard keyboards.)

The eternal gansey, which has travelled and been petted by many, seemed to really be pushing at the boundaries of infinity. And the reason? One which you have no doubt already answered. 'Cos yes, as I gave up on the dangerous to myself and all others within a 5 metre radius long and pointy steel dpns, I managed to move down a needle size. And there was I thinking that the gansey was just doing weird things after the ribbing (yeah, 'cos knitting always pulls in after ribbing, and when you increase the overall stitch count). And who would have thought that there would be such a difference between 2.5mm and 2.25mm needles. And I would tell you how far off my tension is from the suggested, but I also appear to have misplaced the pattern. Yippee. But seriously, it was small already, and I'm now working at about 40 x 48, when 30 x 40 would have been fine. Ah, it will fit someone. Even if I have to perform surgery (on them, of course), it will fit someone.

And the worst of it - even though I checked all the ball bands, and checked the dye lots, they were lying to me. Because there is the most distinct colour shift. Look.

But at least it is accompanied by an almost complete sock.

And in other news - I bring you the Mouse Count. Mice caught: many. Mice caught and lost in the house: four. Mice caught and lost in the house and caught again: three. Mice presumed missing in action: one, which has got to be somewhere, and according the to cats is either up the chimney, or under the oven. Mice caught, lost in the house, caught again, lost again: one. And that one mouse, caught, lost, caught and victoriously lost again? That mouse which beat the system? It is the mouse which climbed the bedroom curtains, which caused kitten to spend all day, and all night sitting by the curtains, purring at the curtains, attacking the curtains, and climbing the curtains. It is the mouse, which caused me, at 2.30 am, to try and prove to kitten that there was no mouse in the curtain, by unhooking the full 8 foot curtain, shaking it out, pushing the kitten under the lining, and rehanging it. And then at 3.30 am, taking the kitten, holding it under one arm while crawling up the lining again (remember, curtain had been rehung by now), screaming and dropping the kitten as mouse was seen, frantically unhooking the curtain, again, bundling it up, taking it outside, going back in to collect kitten, chasing up other cat reinforcements, turning curtain inside out, finding mouse, showing cats where mouse is, preventing cats from killing mouse while on curtains (blood and pale green silk blends not a good mix), showing cats again where mouse is, preventing cats from taking mouse back inside (this is one smart mouse, the cats are not showing any great evidence of intelligent mouse catching), and then finally watching as mouse escapes. And I am sure that mouse gave a jaunty salute as he disappeared under the fence. Kitten has returned to just leaving half-eaten worms in my bed. Mouse is laughing at us all.

so I went to Ally Pally too,

2006-10-19T16:46:00.000+01:00

and all I got was this, and this, and this, and this, and some other things as well.... and I may have also fitted in a trip to the elegant and helpful Stash Yarns too. (And this is long and rambling, but if I don't show the haul, I know I will be mugged by some people. You know who you are.)

So first there is the sock yarn. And this year the theme is breadth - in a campaign to trial as many sock yarns as possibly, all different (and let us not mention that some may already reside in the sock yarn box, for they are in different colour ways, and yea, that does not count). From left to right, bottom to top, with names and all (because some people will insist), Koigu KPM, no.2, Lorna's Laces in Douglas Fir, Cherry Tree Hill in Water, Hipknits (cos it is cashmere, and after day 1 at Ally Pally, my feet were threatening a coup), Trekking XXL, no.66, and finally Fleece Artist, in the colourway without a name.

And then there was the must get things for lace and such like, and isn't some gift-giving season approaching, and of course I can knit up this much between now and then, and finish everything else too.
Lounging across the bottom, Cherry Tree Hill's Cascade Fingering, in Spring Frost. A pretty pastel 2200 yards (just about 2000 metres) laceweight, again from Hipknits, and again because it is cashmere - which I am strongly thinking should just be made into a portable pillow, permanently attached to my head, so any time I am out and about, and maybe feeling just a little stressed, I can just pet it and pet it and love it and pet it, and rest my weary head on it, and then everything bad will go away. And finally some more Fleece Artist, this time Handmaiden's Sea Silk, in Vintage, with a matching skein of silk Rumple. I see scarves in my future.

But then, I made the mistake of being a sheep, and visited Piiku, because Ruth said so, to get some grey roving and some undyed carded fleece. And because I will not be beaten by a spindle.
And I compounded the sheepishness, by following Yvonne to Catalina and their shawl pins, and then to Taj and their Wagtail mohair (which is so soft it would make anyone wag their tail).

You think this is enough, don't you. But I found the Habu stall. At which point a hazy mist comes down, and I come over all wonderment at what the Japanese spinners can do with cotton and silk and bamboo and wool and copper. And I have to have it, all.
(When even serious stashers were impressed by my Habu haul, do you think I should be worrying? And please don't ask what I am going to do with this, because I think it is rude to ask people questions when you know they don't know the answers.)

And yes, there were some other bits and pieces, including knitting needles, because I am stupid enough to go to a show, in order to buy yarn, in order to facilitate yet more playing with yarn, and then remember that in an effort to pack light (more room for yarn, you see), I had decided to leave all needles at home. Well, faced with a week away from home, brand new and interesting and gorgeous yarn, and no needles, what would you do?

There was much to do, and much to see. There was helping out on the Relax and Knit stand (where I did try to be helpful, really I did), and the strange refusal of a ball of Possum yarn from Yvonne, who is truly a goddess of all things good and fibre-y (I have no idea what happened, I think I had just shut down by then). There was the meeting of many, many people. And the meeting of many, many bloggers. (What is the collective noun for bloggers, by the way? And is there a separate noun for that strange sub-group, knit-bloggers?). I finally met Mary-Lou, and have solved the mystery as to why I knew I liked her (well, I like her for other reasons, but she knows what I mean), bought some of her stitch markers - which arrived home before I did, and in considerably better shape - and generally discussed all matters of the world with her. I finally met the absolutely irrepressible WyeSue, who should have been a gibbering wreck, after all the shows she has been at recently. But she wasn't, and I don't think she ever is, and I think under her direction short people should rule the world (cos I'm short too, and we rock).

I met Jan who is extraordinarily generous, and a wicked hat fighter, and another Sue, who sat there all composed and helpful, despite sacrificing some of her crochet hooks to Relax and Knit beginners, and despite being tormented by a certain yarn manufacturer's fashion show. And there was Fred, who would come and tell us we were all knitting too slowly, seeing as he was supervising the Speed Knitters. (And I saw the fastest knitter, who works continental and on circulars, though on straights for the trials, and it just shouldn't be possible.) And I know there were many others, and at this point I would just like to remind you that I am useless at being organised to keep a track of names and faces (and I would refer you to those who are far more together), in the presence of so much fibre, so many knitters, and so, so many people with inexhaustable supplies of good humour. It may not be considered the coolest pasttime, to play with fibre, but it surely makes those who do deeply happy.

Finally, my heartfelt thanks to Ruth, who took me in, got her angel partner Tom (a handsome angel too) to rescue us from the train station, fed me pizza and wine and coffee (real coffee, proper, real, thick, strong coffee), let me play with her cats, let me sleep on her sofa, let me talk fibre until far too late in the night (she talked, and I listened - she knows what she is talking about, I am just very, very good at the bs), showed me her cat and dog hair blanket, but wouldn't let me steal her Hitchhiker, and all while all she wanted to do was play and experiment and design new and beautiful hats.

And now I have to go and finish with the laundry.

aarrrgggghhhhh

2006-10-05T15:24:00.000+01:00

*It* has arrived. My nemesis, my humbler. The mechanical, electrical thing that both reduces me to a quivering, jibbering wreck, and yet enables the spending of vast amounts of money. Oh, yes, even though it actually arrived last month, it has taken until these last few days to get it out, and play. And then realise there are only so many old sheets that one can play on, which means a trip to a local haberdashery, which means causing chaos as everyone in the department has to help me (can I have 5 metres of 10 different ribbons, and no I have absolutely no idea what I need 50 metres of assorted ribbon for), and answer my really, really stupid questions (including which scissors to buy), and then cause further chaos and much seething, and reducing small children to tears, as I hold up the queue at the checkout (not my fault the store wouldn't open another checkout, and the small child started crying because small children sometimes do for completely unfathomable reasons, and I did apologise...)

And I even drafted in reinforcements to show me how to work the thing (many, many thinks Piglet), and try and convince me that the thing is not evil (though it tried to bite me when I was tenderly following the instructions and cleaning out the lint), which I'm not entirely sure of yet. And so what is my first sewing chore, with all that fabric, and ribbon, and needles and thread and scissors and bobbins and yes even velcro and zips? Why, taking up 3 pairs of trousers. Things which are easier done with that clever, clever iron on bonding tape. Something has gone wrong in the state of machinery.

But there has still been some knitting - and, as usual, not of all the things I should be doing, but of something completely new. But you see, I needed a present, to take to my Aunt, who would be putting me up in London, so I could go to the Knitting and Stitching Show (where Ruth has promised to look after me, so I'm sure I'll be safe, unless someone waves a BFL fleece at her from across the way!) So a quick moebius scarf, in Lion and Lamb, with a picot cast-off edging which actually worked. And though I know alcohol is a traditional and much appreciated house-guest gift, surely a luxurious, one-off, made of silk and wool, keep you warm and chic in London scarf will be just as appreciated. (But I'll get her a bottle of something anyway, because she is a good Aunt.)

And later, if you are really good, I have a story of mice and cats, curtains, and 4am trips to the garden to tell.

in motion

2006-09-18T14:20:00.000+01:00

Strangely, for me, this past week has been one of great motion. Of exciting tales and derring-do - well, actually more just of leaving the house and being sociable - of sights and sounds and travelling knitting. So a very quick catch up, not for you, but for me, and my dodgy memory, now that I am 38 (which is a very good time to read A.A. Milne again, I think).

There has been knitting in public, working in the sun, working on a jumper promised to a 3 year-old boy (which he might just get by the age of 4, mea culpa). So a trip to the local park on Sunday last, to eat and drink, and knit sitting on the grass, while watching local bands play in our local Mela. And then, what with the houseguests of the two-legged kind, who are good, and bring bottles of single malt, and clean up after themselves, and the houseguests of the four-legged kind, who I really could do without, thank you so much cats, and if you think you are getting fed after setting a live mouse loose in my bed while I'm trying to get to sleep you can think again, you would think there had been enough to do.

But no - for other knitting went travelling, when a friend who works at the local history section of the library borrowed the gansey in (eternal) progress for a talk she was giving on the history and symbolism of ganseys. So not only did my knitting get petted and patted (and returned with mighty swollen head), but I can get to find out what all those combinations of knit and purl stitches mean.

And then, and then, just to add that always needed touch of WTFness, I went to hear a Theremin played. By Pamelia Kurstin, who is an absolutely delightful member of the screw, nut and bolt loose club. And I swear she escaped from the Sesame Street cupboard. And I never in my life thought I could say I went to a Theremin concert in Hull.

Andthenandthenandthen, my brand-new-birthday-present-to-myself sewing machine arrived. A thing, which I had been given last year, or 10 years ago, or even 30 years ago, I would have jumped up and down on in horror and disgust and childish tantrum how could you how could you I hate it I hate it mode. A thing which I actually decided I wanted (I think), a thing which is sitting there, still, virgin of thread, because I am ever so slightly scared of it. But soon, when I am feeling brave, there may be tales to be told of running stitch and 4 kinds of buttonholes and zig-zagging and scallopping and, and, and.

Andthenandthenandthenand finally. I fixed the toilet. I fixed the toilet by removing the tiny, tiny piece of brick from the washer that sits in the inlet valve (don't ask me how it got there, I really don't want to know why bits of brick are floating through my pipes). Not by replacing the whole unit, or indulging in any kind of major re-plumbing, or cutting and soldering of copper pipes, or having to call in an emergency plumber. Or following any of the really really not useful advice from the man at the DIY store. Admittedly, I have left the toilet with a slightly different quirk in the flush, but at least it no longer dribbles all night long.

Because I am feeling all-conquering and perky, and these hands can do anything, apart from maybe finish something. (Oh, and thank you, the socks that rock have become gravel, and are now sitting meekly, until I can work out how to re-work them.)

j'accuse...

2006-09-05T16:11:00.000+01:00

... myself, of being an idiot. Because I know, now, just about what number of stitches I need on a sock for me. And I know how many to decrease down to on a short row heel. But more than that, I also know how easily seduced I am by pretty colours, and when something yarny gets compliments from knitters and non-knitters alike, and when that something yarny gets told how very, very lovely it looks and feels, I should know now that it is time to listen to the inner claxon.

Socks that Rock is gorgeous stuff - I may have mentioned this before, just once or twice - and I am eternally grateful to Snow for giving me the heads up about joining the Socks that Rock club. And the most recent skein I received, in Peaseblossom, is a stunner. And their suggested sock pattern looks as if should work. Well, look at the photo - don't you think those soft pastels really marry well with Barbara G. Walker's 'subtle mesh'?

(the colours are just about true on my monitor, maybe a fraction warmer in real life)

And I love that Socks that Rock have really been pushing different patterns, and pushing you to experiment with techniques (the Socks that Rock club blog tells all).

But I knew, as I cast on, and I knew, as I read the pattern, and I knew, as I came to the heel, and I knew, as I went along the sole, that they just weren't going to work for me. 'Cos the pattern is lovely, but gives no opportunity for ankle definition (not that I am that vain, but if your legs are short, and somewhat stout, but you know that you did once have an ankle, you do quite want to give the ankle an opportunity to still be seen). And I love a short-row heel, but I know I need to decrease down to 8 (or maybe 10) stitches, and stopping at 12 leaves funny little heel ears. And thought I may have big broad peasant feet, they are still comparatively small, and 70 stitches round is just too many, too many, too many. So the sole is all baggy and wrinkly. Look, photographic evidence!

So, guys, what should I do? Persevere, and give them away to someone else? (And if any of you say yes, I may just have to come round and do something nasty to your stash.) Rip back, redo the heel, and reduce the stitch count on the sole? (But that means I am still left with the no-ankle problem.) Rip completely, start again, having rejigged the pattern? (Am I up to the jiggling?) Or rip completely, make some little wrist warmers using the 'subtle mesh' pattern, because it is so very, very beautiful, to be worn when it starts getting chilly (unlike those of certain teenagers) and then make a pair of simple little toe-up footies with the remaining yarn?

Decisions, decisions, most of which involve the delaying of actually finishing the dratted things.

Oh, and thank you for all the offers of help with sewing. I will, no doubt, be demanding further advice from you all. Because I think I am this close to buying my very own sewing machine. Something which would have my old sewing teacher from back in primary school rolling in her grave...

coffee knitters unite

2006-09-01T15:04:00.000+01:00

Because I have a cunning plan. So cunning, that it could very easily go stunningly wrong. Because it is a plan that involves ... sewing.

Now, for some background. A while ago, I got the very lovely Ruth Woolly Wormhead to make me some hats, for a friend and her brand new daughter. And one of the joys of working with Ruth, is that she spun me up a couple of yarns to choose from. So I chose one, and the other skein went back into Ruth's stash. Only to recently reappear, looking for a new home. And so, the sumptuous Silky Flame became mine (though I have had to grovel to Piglottie for having stolen her yarn, but hey, all is fair in love and yarn purchases.)

And I looked at the skein - it looked back. I took out some needles, and started to knit, and the yarn started growling, every so slightly, not being entirely convinced that I knew what I was doing. So aripping we did go. And out came the crochet hooks (bag, I thought, it wants to be a bag). And the yarn sighed, a deep, tortured, resigned sigh, carrying with it an unfailing sense of 'you've missed the point there, kiddo'. Yes, it did like the idea of being a bag, but the design was wrong. The crochet was wrong, the shape, the altogether drape was wrong.

So I thought some more. I though about my friend - and my poor descriptions of her to Ruth - who had inspired the yarn. I thought about all the times my friend and I sat and drank coffee together (and may have put the world to rights at the time), and how my friend had spent years living in India. And I had a cup of coffee. And then, I thought, coffee bags. Wouldn't a bag made out of a coffee sack, one that had travelled the world, survived tempestuous seas, heat and rain and cold, being stuffed into a shipping container, survived being dragged out and carried and emptied, to be thrown aside, bereft once its purpose had been fulfilled, well wouldn't a bag made out of a used coffee sack be a good thing. So I called my coffee supplier (doesn't everyone have a coffee supplier), and the star that he is, he found me three beautiful bags, which smell of far-off places, and seas, and coffee.

And the yarn, it unwrapped itself, and drapped, and declared that this could, indeed, be good.

But you see, here is where it can all so easily go wrong. Because to make the coffee bag, I am going to have to:

cut the bag, preferably using straight lines,
and;
sew the bag, preferably using straight lines.

And this means sewing. (Well, it also means cutting, and I've never been very good at that either, but the sewing is worse.) Which means finding a sewing machine. And remembering how to use a sewing machine. And how not to injure oneself using a sewing machine. And how not to destroy things using a sewing machine. And how not to destroy a sewing machine.

But, don't you think it could work, a bag, which came all the way from India, sitting side by side with yarn inspired by India, spun with delicate strands of recycled sari silk. A simple, homestyle (yes, and lined too, we want this thing to last), delicious smelling bag, banded round the top with knitted loop stitch silky flame. Wish me luck, folks - but don't hold your breathe, cos it could take me some time.

Oh, if anyone wants, I can try and write up the pattern for the ribbon twist socks. Which you can have, if you promise to throw a bit of money a charity box. And if you promsie not to shout at me, because I can't write a pattern. Just email me (address in, guess where, the sidebar).

red ribbon twist socks

2006-08-29T12:02:00.000+01:00

Yet more finished knit things. And these, although they aren't posed well, I am inordinately proud of. For these are my very own, I made them up all by myself, Red Ribbon Twist Socks. Made for a very dear person, and given to her, on the day of her retirement, while still slightly damp (look, I made the deadline). And with a red twisted ribbon, because in the 5 or so years I have known her, I have never seen her without her AIDS ribbon.

Red Ribbon Twist Socks:

In Cherry Tree Hill supersock, in the Wild Cherry colourway. (Which is shades of RED, because unless things are for a small child, I do not knit pink, no matter what anyone might say, and these are not in shades of pink. So there, you know who you are, you pink-sayers.)

Toe-up socks, using the Turkish Cast-On (what is the T C-O? You can do no better than check out Fluffy Knitter Deb's tutorial on this, and then virtually stroke her P-man while you are at it.)

With short row heels, ribbon twist (left over right 2 stitch crossed cable, and matching right over left, yes, I actually put some thought into it) clocks on the instep, and the really, really clever bit, is a travelling ribbon twist from the heel up - so it starts at the centre back, and travels over and up to meet the clocks on the instep, ideally, if I've got it right, just above the ankle bone. Finished with some 2 by 2 rib, and then kitchenered cast-off.

Started on 2.25mm, then switched up to 2.5mm for the last couple of inches, for that calf ease.

Invaluable, once again, was Priscilla Gibson-Roberts's 'Simple Socks', for the short row heels, while Fiona Ellis's 'Inspired Cable Knits' talked me through travelling cables.

So why no better pictures? Because the rightful owner and inspirer of these socks has long, but crazily narrow feet, so no way could anyone else model them, and I couldn't really ask her to whip off her shoes, on a hot summer day, and pose.

What else, what else. Well, the Cherry Tree Hill is lovely to work with, held up to being reknit post heel many, many times (yes, I took notes on the first sock, and obviously my notes made absolutely no sense when it came to knitting the second sock) and softens up beautifully. But, even though CTH may say their supersock is machine washable, cold water, I wouldn't trust them not to still give off dye, because the water coloured RED (not pink), muchly, in the hand-washing.

And I will knit these socks again - because the other clever thing, if you want them for wider feet (or shorter, or any combination), all you need to do is increase the number of stitches in the plain old stockinette bits. Because the pattern bits stay the same. Woo-hoo. And they were quick, and cute, and work well in variegated, because they aren't overly-complex, and even look good inside out. So yay, I'm feeling clever. (Boast, boast.)

There is also plenty of other knitterly action going on - the large and now in the boring stage gansey (miles and miles of stockinette) is growing, and has found an owner, a wonderful woman who runs a volunteer programme managing gardens (including vegetables) in an inner city area, and needs something warm for winter. A winter sweater has been started for my godson, and the yarn bought for his warmer weather next year sweater. Socks are being made, for me, in Socks that Rock, in the most eatable colours (seriously soft yummy Midsummer Night's Dream inspired pastels, go STR club). Which also means that I have things to photograph in the future.

And the biggest news, there has been small, but significant progress on the WRS. In that it has been picked up again, and knit again. And the FotRS is not defunct. though it may be moving through treacle for a while. (But if you want real WRS progress, check out the other members of the WRS ring - look in the side-bar, you know what to do.)

Enough witter - back soon.

communal yarn

2006-08-15T16:37:00.000+01:00

A few weeks ago, before Ruth ran away to The Big Chill, she sent me a present. Now, because Ruth is lovely, I'm sure she sent it with the best of intentions. But, it is a present designed to make sure I stop doing all chores around the house, stop being at all a useful member of society, and in fact stop leaving the house at all, except to make the occasional fibre raid.

For Ruth sent me a spindle. And Ruth sent me fibre.

She also sent me instructions to go and pester Zoe (hello, mango!) - fortunately before Zoe decided to play hockey puck with her knee - and get some help in the learning to spin.

So I took my spindle, and the beautiful fibre (a batch of hand dyed Blue Faced Leicester, in soft salmon pinks, and a batch of hand dyed Wensleydale, in sun-faded blueberry) to a meeting of our local knit club.

And everyone span. So thanks to Piglet, Piglottie, Blueadt, Sarah, Pepe, Marie, Kaz, Kath, and of course Zoe, yarn was made. Not the best yarn, but wonderful, communal, laughter-filled beginner yarn.

Which has now been washed, and set, and weighted, and skeined, and sits there crying 'I need some more hand-spun friends'.

Ruth, thank you. And I promise to learn to spin better, too.

Now, in other news. Well, actually just to apologize to Teresa, who justifiably asked for better photos, for the complete failure to produce photos of finished items on actual live people. Part of the problem is I don't have a full-length mirror, or even a half-length mirror, so I can't take self-portrait shots. And the other part of the problem is that I am congenitally camera-shy. But I will try and be brave enough to do better in the future!

And now to make you all jealous - yes, the Elsebeth Lavold was bought sight unseen. But it was bought by a friend, who came across a ridiculously cheap supply of yarn, in a warehouse sale, last year. She rang me from the warehouse - sometimes mobile phones are good things - to describe some of the goodies she had found, I gave her a budget, and I trusted her. And she came through, for I got a cone of the silky tweed, just over a kilo of it, for just over 10 shiny English pounds. Now sit and weep!

Oh, and if anyone has any really useful tips on spinning? Send 'em in. In particular any useful tips on how to improve my patience, so I prepare the fibre properly, rather than just diving straight into the whole I want to make yarn now, now, now, deal.

I finished something!

2006-08-11T15:22:00.000+01:00

Astonishingly, I actually managed to finish something - a sweet little boxy cardi for the summer. Now that it has started raining.

The pattern is Angel, by Kim Hargreaves, from Rowan no.21. With modifications. 'Cos I used a different yarn. Elsebeth Lavold's Silky Tweed, in a gorgeous warm golden oatmeal colour. The yarn is odd to work with, as there is very little twist holding the separate strands together - it could be very splitty - and gives off little papery wisps every now and then. But the drape is lovely, and it feels like being wrapped in ancient soft buttermilk parchment.

What I have learned:

Yarn substitution is fairly simple, as long as you aren't making a deeply fitted item - this cardi is designed to hang a bit loose, and although there is some waist shaping, being out a little bit in gauge is no great matter.

When they tell you to do the pattern detail at the bottom of the cardi and the sleeve cuffs in a smaller needle size, it isn't just so they can sell more needles. It really would help with the shape, particularly around the cuffs, which hang a bit wide and loose. But hey, I'm lazy, and who wants to reknit. (Although I am debating redoing the cuffs, but the chances of that actually happening are close to zero.)

Taking your time over the sewing up really does matter. Even if - especially if - you hate sewing up. But hey, my first mattress stitching ever, and it doesn't suck.

Sleeves can be knit in the round, to minimise sewing up. Even though it may make setting them in more difficult.

I need more buttons - I think I lucked out here, but a random collection of mainly old school uniform shirt buttons really doesn't give me much choice.

I really, really prefer knitting in the round, and so one day I must get brave enough to steek.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank all for your comments on the last post - and I promise I won't get soggy sentimental too often.

20 years ago

2006-08-05T22:39:00.000+01:00

Today, it turns out, became a different kind of day. It was meant to be a day for taking pictures of finished objects (I know, I'm as shocked as anyone) and of yarny gifts.

Instead, it became a day of soft summer memories, and things long past. I love peas, beans, food, that if you are lucky, can be picked straight from the ground, or the vine, the dirt brushed off, a sugar sweet explosion when you squeeze a fresh pea to popping between tongue and palate, that juicy crystal crunch of mange tout, the splitting open of a pod, and picking a broad bean out of its cradle of iced white fur. But it seems I love beans and peas more because the very action of taking a bowl and a bag of pods outside, to sit and shell, takes me back to my childhood. For somehow, as much as it was a chore, it was also a treat to sit outside, at the warped wooden table, on the warped wooden bench, and help make dinner. There was always the fight over who got the bean stringer first, and then the call for a bandage, as a tiny childish finger would over-enthusiastically bump up against the little blades. The competitions over who could shell the fastest, the most, who could find the fullest pod, or the one which promised so much but was empty. There would be other food to prep - tomatoes to be sliced, potato salad to be mixed, meat to be marinaded (and yes, of course the men would man the fire, what do you expect), and after there would be the coin toss, to see who had to dash barefoot across the gravel to the cold dark garage to get the ice cream, which, if we were lucky, would go with the picked that morning made today blackberry and apple crumble.

And it seems that podded peas and beans are among the last of the truly seasonal foods, foods so intrinsically linked to time and place, and memory. And it seems it took me a while to realise why I love them so. But today I remembered. Today I remembered those summers, those golden moments. And today I remembered that my mother died 20 years ago, today.

And as I sat outside, with a bag of pods, a bowl filling with fresh, fresh peas, I thought about all the things she had never seen. How she never saw either of the women my brothers married. How she never saw the first 3 in the Star Wars sextet (and I remembered how she used me as an excuse to go and see the last three, which came out before the first three). How she never saw me leave home. How she never saw Schwazenegger become a politician - what would she have made of her home state? - though she did go and see him in 'Pumping Iron' (and I remembered how she and Dad made a deal over that; she could see over-large oiled up muscles, if he could see 'Goodbye, Emmanuelle'). How she never saw her grandchildren. How she never saw a reality TV show. How she never saw my god-children. How she never saw Sylvie Guillem dance at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden (and I remembered how she used to call school, tell them I was sick, and take me to dress rehearsals there when I was little). How she never saw me graduate college. How she never saw me cook a meal for her in my own home (and I remembered hunting through London with her, looking for that elusive fresh garlic, or bottle of olive oil, as we walked back from the ballet, through 1970s Soho, delighting in the contradictions that the day brought). How she never, how she never, how she never. And today it is 20 years of how she never.

And it isn't that I miss her, for of course I do, but on a day like today, which came flooding through with remembrances, her absence is not so strong. And any threatening tears are chased away with a smile. Because I see her presence in the memories that come with shelling a peck of peas. Because I see her presence in the gift she gave me, to remember those moments, of sitting side by side, just being, while we would shell a peck of peas.

well, that was fun

2006-07-31T23:41:00.000+01:00

Looks promising, doesn't he. Lying there, bathed in cool, clean water, dappled in sunlight, good pec definition, the requisite six pack. Growing impercebtibly, with only tiny little glistening air bubbles drifting to the surface every now and then.

And after a week (I even gave him longer than the suggested 72 hours - maybe he is a bit of a late developer), look at him now. Some Da Vinci man, he. Now is the time to insert all your standard anti-man jokes, cos this, my friends is as good as it gets.

But I promise, if you come back soon, that there will be actual fibre content. Real, live, actual things made of knit, and things that could one day be made of knit, once I stop laughing hysterically.

goodie bag

2006-07-24T14:07:00.000+01:00

Don't you love it when you get things? When your stash has started to reach the epic proportions, when trading is not only possible, but necessary, and so you swap something that seemed like a good colour at the time, but probably isn't, for some pretty Fyberspates sock yarn, so that your feet can dance like foxgloves, and at some point in your future you can imagine coming over all Jemima Puddle-Duck. Many thanks, Blueadt, for the swap.

Don't you love it when you get things? When you know that your latest cardigan needs a something, and you have a feeling that that something might just be a brooch of some kind. But you don't want anything hard, angular, pointy, instead you think something soft and dream-like, something inspired by star-gazy reverie, by moon-struck wondering and night-sky wandering. And it just so happens that Hello Mango, has the perfect little hand-spun hand-made crocheted flower, as inspired by the Horsehead Nebula. Many thanks, Hello Mango, for the brooch.

Don't you love it when you get things? When you are working on a gansey, but you've been playing with the size, and need to remember that you've added bits, and to pattern accordingly, and could do with some deeply funky stitchmarkers, to help you remember. And then, because they say you've been helpful, you get given the most envy-creating little set of four (wave them in front of a teenage knitter, and watch their eyes grow wide with desire), of long, dangly, they look all dangerous and spiky but are touchable squeezable soft squadgy rubber stitchmarkers in pink and black, which work just perfectly. Many thanks, Piglottie, for the stitchmarkers.

And don't you just love it, when you unpack your little man, prop him up for size, and prepare him for his bath. My friends, he is starting to grow.

grow your own

2006-07-18T13:49:00.000+01:00

Too hot (delicate English flower, here), brain in meltdown, can't remember names, things that need doing, or to take house keys with me when leaving the house. But when friends bring you back gifts from Canada, action is required. So I'm going to stick his feet in water, and cuddle up. Good, non?

woolfest part last - the people

2006-07-09T17:28:00.000+01:00

For La (the closest I have ever knowingly come to someone reenacting, but he needs better socks)

Happiness is infectious

Sharing

Concentration

Concentration (how can she not look to her left?)

"I am woman ...

hear me roar."

Woolfest is run by Woolclip - a cooperative of farming women and craftswomen based in Cumbria. See you 29th-30th June, 2007.

Photos by Puplet, cropping by Susoolu

woolfest part 3 - the things

2006-07-09T16:18:00.000+01:00

colour

pure inspiration

more colour

magic

feeling the felt pig

eat me

I wish I could - one day I will

Photos by Puplet, cropping by Susoolu

woolfest part 2 - the animals

2006-07-09T15:31:00.000+01:00

For Jen

Privacy please, we're nekkid

I can't do a thing with my horns today

You come in here and say that

(whispering) You've got some hay in your hair

I want to be a rug

Make sure you've got my best side

I won't attempt animal identification - but I do know that among the selection are some Wensleydale, an Angora Goat (who would not stop posing), and an Alpaca. And if you click on them, they should get bigger.

Photos by Puplet, cropped by Susoolu

woolfest part 1

2006-07-03T13:52:00.000+01:00

Ah, Woolfest 2006. So, the practicalities. I drove 360 miles. I went, with blueadt and Puplet. I met Piglottie and Ruth woolly wormhead (and some others, I am sure). I looked, I fondled, I had a shopping list, I talked, I ate, I bought. I even wore a new cardi - but not the one I was never going to finish in time, because I need to rework the sleeves (sorry Carrie K!), but the habu kit finally badly blocked and sewn up so it looks nothing like it is meant to look, but it is still a finished object. I took a camera, but absolutely no pictures (I'll just steal puplet's when he isn't looking.) And I came away saying how did I miss that, and that, and that. And why didn't I ask this, and talk to them, and see those. And the shopping list might have been forgotten, and other things found instead. And I spent the day after feeling hungover (was it the sun, the driving, or the heady aroma of lanolin and sheep bottoms that sent me over the edge?).

And Ruth is wonderful, and her knitting is so very beautiful and even and fondle-able, and even if she can't remember where she has put her phone, her knitting goes away just so (sweetly, she didn't thwack me for mis-folding the Hat in progress, just calmly unpacked it and put it away properly - such a perfectionist!). And I would have mugged her for her new Hitchhiker, but a) I don't know the first thing about spinning; and b) she looked so very, very happy with her (yes, the wheel appears to have found its gender, but is still unnamed), that I couldn't have been so mean.

But you want to see what was bought. Well, there were books, and needles, and chibis (yippee, a pink one, and seethrough one, to match the green), and I wanted to find presents, but didn't find anything just right, so I was selfish and it is all for me, me, me. And of course, the yarn. Cones from The Natural Fibre Company, in grey, greyer, and white (as it turns out, all from Sue Blacker's own sheep) - labelled as DK, without yardage but much, and I have no idea yet what to do with it. A skein of Jacob grey-brown chunky from Garthenor Organic Pure Wool, which will be the swatch for the 'at home' winter cable cardigan. And the Jamieson and Smith. I hear the Shetland accent, I see the pretty, pretty colours, and a rainbow haze comes down, the card comes out, and I am lost.

I am lost in a maelstrom, and the lace is still there, in my heart, but my fingers are delirious with the thought of fair isle (by the way, more colours underneath).

More to come - aren't festivals great for giving you something to post about. Meanwhile, I must find steal some space from the great yarn void, and re-order the stash.

For those of you who haven't been to Woolfest, do go, it is such fun. And for those of you who went, didn't you have such fun!

okay, so it's a cat

2006-06-27T12:33:00.000+01:00

The face of a cat interrupted mid-canoodle with her snowman. Yes, I've told her it's Summer, and Santa isn't coming for another six months, and she will not be rewarded with an imminent shower of kitty treats, but what can you do with a cat who can't read a calendar.

Don't you hate how long sleeves take. And I'm not even thinking about button bands. Bets on to finish a cardi by Woolfest?

sharing (and mental disorganisation)

2006-06-19T13:36:00.000+01:00

I think I've worked out what happened. You see, some friends of mine went on holiday (France, blah, blah, blah, good food, blah, blah, blah, good drink, blah, blah, blah), and even though I was stuck here, cleaning out the cat box, and scrubbing the kitchen floor (I am so very downtrodden), I think my subconscious took some kind of holiday too. It wasn't me, it was my id.

That, and as it turns out I have some serious thinking to do, which involves major avoidance of the room the computer should live in (but hey, laptop, and wireless, who needs to be constrained by walls). Nothing bad thinking, just grown-up thinking, state of the nation type stuff, which does have a fairly fast approaching deadline, which snuck up, despite the use of calendars. So my brain has been elsewhere. And the knitting has been slow, because when it gets hot I get all icky sweaty palms (me, not the silk, Carrie K., I'm the one who gums things together, so I'm sure your WIP will be just dandy.) And the tragedy of that is, though I cast on for a new summer cardi, in Elsebeth Lavold Silky Tweed, which drapes beautifully, but gives off bits of catkin like fluff like nobodies business (completely ignoring the evil cardi that almost was, bah to you, cotton), with acres of stocking stitch which were meant to be easy and relaxing, I miss lace. I miss lace, I miss the shetland shawl, in cobweb wool, and I miss the wedding ring shawl, with a gnawing, finger twitching hunger. Maybe I should just stay up all night, and knit in the cool depths of 4am dawns.

What else, what else.

Oh, time to welcome a new blogger, Piglet - who is an insanely good lace knitter in the making, and I cannot wait until she is properly suck(er)ed in. And next time you drop round, I will introduce you to my weeds. Which are so grand and large I am thinking of naming them .... Moonbell buttercup to your left, in the back not hiding at all, is Chrissy, Dave and Benjamin James, the dock twins, at the front, Sweetie Pie Fluffy Plumps bang dead centre ....

And La (of JenLa infamy) you are wonderful, but sneaky, and I fully maintain the rights to only half participate in your memes.

And the people from Amazing Lace, up to challenge 3 already, I admit my uselessness. But you are still so inspiring, and if only I lived in an igloo.

And finally, I shall leave you with some homework. Mine, from many, many years ago, aged 9, when I had clearly been having some kind of disagreement with the parents. Please forgive the pretentious food references. And by the way, I still think the teacher was just a little bit wrong.

Grown Ups, by me, aged 9

Grown ups I find hardly ever use their common sense to find their ways out of problems, and us children who know the easy way out are never allowed to tell them. Very rarely do you find someone who knows a lot and makes it sound interesting to everyone and anyone. Most people go on and on about themselves, which is alright but you yourself can never get a word in. Adults are always fussy about children going to bed early and getting up early, while they go to bed around 12.00 o’clock and sleep through half the next day. Apart from the working mothers who get their children ready for school and then flop back into bed. Children are always being told not to do this and not to do that while they themselves do it a few minutes later. We are always limited to the amount of food and have to eat it whether we like it or not. They always eat a lot whether it is good for them or bad for them, while we have to eat plain meat and things that are healthy for us whether we like it or not. They always eat a lot of lobster or something like that and when we ask for a little they say it is not fit for children, and the next day it disagrees with them “because it had gone bad”, but it was because they had eaten too much.

They say we never take enough exercise but they just lounge about drinking gin and tonic and whisky, and white and red wine at the table, chatting all the time. Also with coffee and port if it is Sunday and they have guests.

Grown ups are nearly always unfair and children never lead a free childhood. But children always love their parents and parents always love their children and try to do their best for us but if they left us alone we could get on better.

[Teacher's comment: Some interesting thoughts. I think you will change some of your opinions when you are older.]

What an irritating child I must have been.

lazy summer days

2006-06-10T17:50:00.000+01:00

I've been a bad blogger, and not much of a better knitter, recently. Why? Because lazy summer days are here, and I want to go back to my childhood and reclaim those scratching through the woods expeditions, dangling feet in sweet salty water, coming home attached to leaves and twigs, covered in sunburn and thick black ozone sticky mud.

But the world doesn't work like that, for even if the university undergraduates can run away, I can't. So instead I've been just plain wilting, persuading cats that now is really not the time to use me as their kneadable mattress, and just feeling too plain sticky to knit.

So I leave you with a photo of some of the few plants that aren't officially weeds, to go and wilt some more. (And wish I had finished the cotton cardigan from last year, which became so traumatic that I gave away much of the remaining yarn, and now I can't finish it at all. And realised that now is a really silly time to be knitting a 44" chest gansey. And silk gets really sticky in the heat, which should be a good thing, but isn't.)

for Myriam

2006-05-25T15:40:00.000+01:00

Myriam - I asked a friend to write this in French for you. I hope it helps, but I am not an expert, and my friend does not knit. My friend also found you another website to try, which has places which will translate knitting terms, and further down the page, there are some links to French knitting blogs:
http://www.geocities.com/mwillsondesigns/translations

Bonjour Miriam,

Pour le 'blocking', je me sers de 'blocking wires' (fils), qui sont en acier inox mince main assez résistant et très lisse. J'ai trouvé les miens ici: (http://www.heirloom-knitting.co.uk/cart/dressing_wires.php). Vous aurez également besoin d'aiguilles de bonne qualité.

Quand le châle est terminé, lavez le doucement a la main. Enroulez le dans une serviette pour absorber l'eau, puis étalez le soigneusement sur une surface plate et propre. J'enfile les fils a travers les extrémités du châle et retient les fils en place avec des aiguilles. Doucement, en faisant attention de garder la bonne tension, je donne la bonne forme au châle en tirant doucement. C'est le bon moment pour vérifier s'il y des erreurs ou des mailles lâchées, et les réparer. Je laisse sécher au cours d'une nuit. Vous pouvez distendre le châle fermement, la laine devrait être assez résistant. Faites attention de ne pas tirer trop brusquement.

Voici une autre site qui vous aidera peut être – il y a des images utiles:
http://www.earthheartdesigns.com/Earth%20Heart%20pages/Knitting%20Fun/Tips%20&%20Hints/blocking_lace.htm

J'espère que ça vous aidera. Bonne chance pour la compétition.

distraction tactics

2006-05-18T16:23:00.000+01:00

You will be pleased to know that the new car made it home safely, made it in through the ancient rusty gates safely (about 15cm total clearance - takes me 10 minutes to get in and out of the drive now), and has received cat approval. Susie was most miffed that I took her red car away, but she has decided, after some judicious sniffing, that the shiny new silver car is an equally good heat conductor, and just right for sunbathing (after total block has been applied to her ears). Oh, goody, cat claws and shiny new metallic paint.

I only wish, Daisy, that I could reprogramme the car to allow knitting! Or perhaps find an ever so helpful monkey to help share the driving duties.

And it is nice to know that helpful people, aka Carrie K, are trying to encourage me in finding my way through the maze that is Lord of the Rings (and no, I haven't watched all of the movies yet, and I'm liking the knit so much, that I've decided to do it all again - update soon, over on the official FotRS site, as soon as I stop crying.)

And I have found yet more distractions - and then was so distracted that I forgot to mention them. But I signed up for The Amazing Lace the other week (look, button in sidebar and all, how official), which is the devious concept of Theresa and Rachel. I'm sure that it is meant to encourage us all in the knitting of lace, but seeing as my current progress can be measured in minus numbers, I'm not sure that I'll ever make it to the end. Still, many pretty things over there to look at, so go look.

What else, what else. Well, apologies for having not been as good as going round all the blogs recently, as I am still silly busy - so could you just all stop being so prolific, maybe just try posting once every couple of weeks or so? That way, I don't get so behind, and miss out on visiting some of my favourite people and seeing what they have all been up to.

What else - oh, you came for knitting? So could I get on with it? Well, no knitting going on here, but I have a double confession. Which I had been hoping I wouldn't have to make, what with the distractions and all. For not only have I been playing on the dark side (yes, the evil crochet), but that I also I killed some yarn.

I happen to be lucky enough to know Hello Mango (Hi, Mango, waving frantically), in actual person, down at the local knit club. And every so often, Hello Mango brings some of her handspun with her. Beautiful stuff, soft, delicious, and colours which just called to my inner 5 year old child, bright, vibrant, screaming out to be made into a dinky little summer bag, with a great big crocheted flower on the outside. So over the weekend I hooked up a bag, for felting (yes, I know, officially it is fulling). And I threw it in the washing machine, because pah, hand-felting. And it felted just fine, down to the right size, kept just a hint of stitch definition (which I wanted), small enough to make the inner 5 year old happy, just large enough to put a couple of summer essentials in. But. And this is where it gets awful. I killed the yarn. I've already grovelled to Hello Mango (who does have a name, Zoe, but I like writing Hello Mango) and apologized, and she has been very kind and not threatened to never sell me yarn again. But I killed it. Because I borrowed a pair of jeans to throw in with the bag, and didn't stop to think about dye. So the denim dye did what it would do, and dyed Hello Mango's bright lucious colours a slightly denim dull dye shade. Readers, I made the yarn die. I am sorely ashamed, and so ashamed that I cannot give you further details of my heinous crime. But apparently, Puplet, who has no shame, has kidnapped the bag, and will be giving full details, with photographic evidence, of how I killed a fimble last weekend.

And now, I will leave you with the final distraction, a photo of Fran, the great huntress. Little Fran is growing big and strong, gamboling through the tall, weed-infested grass out back (wildlife friendly, I'll have you know, not lazy gardeners), and bringing home her kills to share, and be admired.

And what would the great huntress be bringing home? Why, the most deadly creature know to cat or human, the most difficult to trap, to carry, to capture. Nothing other than the garden worm. Our kitten, the great worm-charmer. Lovely, underfoot, first thing in the morning.

full-time score

2006-05-12T12:16:00.000+01:00

Coffee vs Knitting

Coffee 0 :: Knitting 23

Sorry for being all cryptic - and I only wish, Mary-Lou, that life had taken over because of fun things, like birthdays!

No, just one of those silly, silly times when everything just gets far too busy, and there was NO TIME FOR KNITTING. You know, when suddenly you feel like you have to spend your life in the car, and being the driver, you CAN'T KNIT, or you get put on a quiz team, and you CAN'T KNIT, or there are 8,001 people round wanting drinks and food, and you spend your time jumping up and down getting coffee and tea and water and wine and nibbles and olives and cheese and dinner and crisps and you CAN'T KNIT. And then you have to do the washing up of the 8,001 people who wanted all the coffee and tea and so on, so you CAN'T KNIT. And then all the washing up has made your hands cracky spodgy prunes, so even if you had the time, you CAN'T KNIT. And then, what with all the driving around, and the driving of the others around, you decide that the car really is just a little bit sick and old, and if you were going to spend far too much money fixing the car, you might just as well spend far too much money getting a new car, so you have to go and test drive possibly new cars, and you REALLY CAN'T KNIT driving a strange car. And then you have to do all the 'how much? You must think I came down in the last shower' conversations with the car people, and although sharp pointy needles can be just a bit threatening, I'm not sure that they really work when you are trying to be all hard-nosed and no I haven't fallen in love with this car, which by the way was officially registered on my birthday, and I really, really want it, and I'm making it a set of fluffy dice right now, and then maybe a car cosy, so you CAN'T KNIT. (Now, there is an idea, handmade fluffy dice....)

But, I think I have now reclaimed the balance - or rather that knitting has reclaimed its rightful place as in charge. For this morning, I took delivery of both my regular supply of coffee beans, and a second-hand, but absolutely untouched Gansey kit, which must have come from these people (bought in 1987, cost £32.80, 'cos they left the receipt in the bag, and lookie, lookie, it would cost me £67.35 now, and the friend it came from wouldn't even take any money for it - so we compromised and left cash for charity).

Coffee is precious to me. I hold my hands up and admit that I am one of those sad people that cannot function with caffine - do not ever talk to me first thing in the morning unless I have had my coffee - and the beans, all 3.5kg of them, live in the bottom of the fridge-freezer, in the special coffee beans only drawer. Each delivery, the packages are carefully unwrapped, stroked, sniffed, and lovingly placed away until needed, welcome, Costa Rica, ah, the Nepalese, how nice to have some of you again, my old friend Mocha, and Mysore, hiding in the back there. But the gansey kit? There is a chance, that although untouched by human hands, it might have played host to a few little critters, there was just a hint of something crusty that might once have been the casing for some moth larva - only on the 2 'spare' balls, which had been left loose, to fend for themselves (how my heart bleeds). But needs must, and now the coffee has to fend for itself, not even taken out of its cardboard box, as each of the 12 balls has been unwrapped, had a quick examination, and then put away, in the bottom drawer of the fridge-freezer, until I have both strength and time to carefully, carefully, carefully crawl along each and every inch of each and every ball, to see what else might have been crawling along.

So, you see, all is as it should be now. The wool has taken over. I've even been making non-progress progress over on the FotRS.

And now, I must leave, to go and get a 'new' car (it makes fancy bleeping noises, I've never had a car that bleeped at you before, and had buttons to press and make bleeping noises, and told you to put your seat-belt on! How long before I start bleeping back at it?)

Can you cross you fingers, so that I at least get it home without pranging it?

half-time score

2006-05-09T12:47:00.000+01:00

Life vs Knitting

Life 1 :: Knitting 0

In immortal words of surely someone wise, it is all a bit poo.

Mayday, mayday

2006-04-28T18:08:00.000+01:00

Come Mayday, I will be officially casting-on for Sharon Miller's Wedding Ring Shawl. Come Mayday evening, I will just be sending out mayday messages.

You see, this is what happens when you start blogging, you 'meet' people. And they seem nice, kind, clever, funny, and sometimes you start leaving comments, and sometimes those comments turn into emails. And then, someone who you thought was nice, kind, clever, funny turns around and decides to play Flight of the Bumble Bee using your brain as their xylophone. And so the dear, delightful Snow signed us up to a joint, transatlantic adventure, were we would share the pleasures and pains of knitting the Wedding Ring Shawl together. And because she isn't putting me through enough already, we have become the Fellowship of the Ring Shawl (thanks, Mary-Lou). So now I have to watch those blasted movies (if you are a Tolkein freak, I apologize for the diss, but the most Tolkein I ever managed to read was less than a paragraph before I ran screaming from the room), and work out clever and witty over-extended metaphors and puns and references, as if the whole knit itself isn't going to be enough.

But I have to say that the FotRS site is very pretty, as is the button (look, sidebar, linking, even available for your own site, download properly etc., etc., 'cos if you don't the RingWraiths will get you) thanks to the tender ministrations of Scrine, web-designer extraordinaire and cute squinty bird. Who will be watching over us, our own little Gandalf, ready to step in and take control if we lose it too badly.

And, as if that isn't enough, there is even a Knitting the One Ring ring (details on FotRS), so that you can ALL come and play (yes, I'm looking right at you, Wye Sue). Because Snow and I can't be the only ones mad enough to knit this.

So, all that aside, I have been doing other things, now that my back has been crunched into submission by the osteopath. I thought, first, I would work on lace, because I need all the practice I can get, so 40 rows of Sharon Miller's Spring Shawl, which doesn't look very much at all in the photo. And has been put aside, because, funnily enough, I have a hankering to work with large and chunky things right now. So I have my head down, my hands round some 7.5mm needles, and am concentrating on finally finishing a habu jacket. Oh, and fighting with the weed-fest that is the garden (dandelions look so pretty, from a distance), 'cos garden beat-up green stained hands make lace so much easier.

For those who dance round the maypole, have a fun weekend.

Oh, and aren't you impressed with all my casually tossed in LotR words! Look at me, I do Tolkein now.

Oh, and did I mention the FotRS thing?

exciting news...

2006-04-20T19:04:00.000+01:00

and many plans, but it will all have to wait, as I've put my back out. Indeed, I, and the food, needed to be rescued from the supermarket carpark by a friend today.

Still, if you want to know, go and see Snow, who has forced my hand, and signed us up to something ...
Meanwhile, can't move, can't knit, but baby is the painkiller high fun.

mother and daughter

2006-04-18T17:59:00.000+01:00

A few months ago, one of my favourite people ever, L., gave birth to a daughter (who could not love a woman who says of her first born: "... to me she is lovely. She is improving by the day in the looks department - less like Brando and more like a little piglet." Now, I have promised that little M. will get handknits, and she will, when I get round to it (I'll know this girl for years, so I've got time). But I wanted to get mother and daughter something really special, made just for them, from start to finish. (Let us ignore the fact that these are hats, and we are heading for summer - the hats are not tacky-fashion-will-go-out-of-season-in-a-flash hats, and will work just as well next winter. And by then there is an outside chance that L. and I will have actually managed to get together, and I will actually get to meet M.)

So a few weeks agos, I turned to one of my new favourite people, Ruth, and demanded that she help. And Ruth, with her professional hat on, came through for me. She wasn't scared when I said there were no photos of L. Ruth wasn't scared when I said I have absolutely no memory for faces, and couldn't tell her what L. looked like, even if I were staring L. in the face. Ruth wasn't scared when I started on the long and rambling stories of things done with L., all in a vague attempt to capture character.

Ruth asked me clever questions, made suggestions as to shape and colour and style, sent me work-in-progress photos, and delivered (came in under budget, too!). Two gorgeous, hand-dyed, hand-spun hats, warm and interesting and beautifully finished, one in cashmere, one in merino and silks, which I know fit L., in body and soul.

falling

2006-04-09T15:13:00.000+01:00

You know how I said that I had all these things I needed to do? All those plans I had made, to make socks and jumpers and baby clothes? You didn't really think I was actually going to be sensible, did you?

Good. Because instead I made a small moebius scarf, in luscious Lion and Lamb (mixed berries, if you must), in one of my favourite, favourite stitches, brioche. (I feel so unutterably extravagantly elegant, working brioche, swooping down for the yarn overs, scooping up through the slip, finishing with a satisfying, anchoring k2tog.) Which I promptly gave away, before I took a photo (I'll eat mixed berries til the summer pudding runs out, but they aren't something I'll wear.)

And then, because the world seems to be dotted with devious little traps at the moment, I finally fell down the rabbit hole. Now this rabbit hole is a travelling rabbit hole, and I know of at least two 'victims'. Snow fell down, a while ago, when she bumped into Alice Starmore's Laleli. Cassie just keeps falling from one rabbit hole into another (but she's briefly come up for air, and is making some serious cute holders for an emergency sock kit, which would be almost perfect if they weren't for the evil dpns). And I would warn you, I don't know where it is going to hit next. And I would warn you, because this rabbit hole makes you come over all Super-Knitter Super-Hero (what would the costume be? Hair held up with crochet hooks? Circular whips? Stitch markers to pin you down? Lace shawls to tie you up? A knitter's bag, all porcupine-y with dpns, just right for clouting round the head. Sweeping past in a cape of all the swatches you have - of course - made and kept and labelled and numbered and catalogued?), and things that in a saner moment would bring fear and trembling suddenly seem a snip-snap-snop. Because this week, I thought I could knit the Wedding Ring Shawl.

Now wiser knitters than I will survive playing with bunnies, I'm sure. But based on the swatches above, I think I hit just about every tree branch on my way down. The first swatch, on the bottom left, is in a Shetland Cobweb (914m per 20g), done at night, in bed, watching a dvd. The second swatch, the abomination bottom right, is in a Gossamer Silk (700m per 20g), done at knit club, worked when awake, in good light, in a good chair, with a lovely helpful young man who brings you coffee at regular intervals. The lesson learnt being me talking and lace is a bad, bad, bad thing. Also that silk is just waiting to pounce, and make a fool of you. (The top swatch is in a mysterious coned yarn, thicker than the others, but after the silk bit back, I thought I just ought to behave and practice.)

So, guess what I ordered.

Send supplies, I could be down here some time.

use your imagination

2006-03-31T16:24:00.000+01:00

A no-photo post today, because I have managed to lose my camera. So, I will just have to tell you about all the wonderful things I have knitted (and you can decide if I am telling the truth or not).

First up, the aran, which was going to knitted with all-over twisted stitches (eastern/western crossed technique), for extra warmth and bubbly texture. Until proper knitters started laughing at me. And the swatch proved that I have nothing in my stash for an aran (oh, sure, there is some lovely stuff there, but you know when you want something just right, and it isn't, and what there is is obviously planned for other things), but it made a very nice striped swatch-blanket for a friend's new and fancy pair of multicoloured slippers. And then the weather kyboshed the plan, because today the sun came out, again, and it might indeed be starting to be warm(ish), and who makes an aran for the summer.

Then, the socks. Three pairs, in matching disarray of not done-ness. The first, for friend one, is close. But it is far more fun to make her whip out her feet at inopportune moments, in public, and try them on for size checking, so they may never be finished. The second, for friend two (who does much work for AIDS charities), will be in glorious toning reds (please, CTH, none of the dye problems that have been muttered about in various places, but oooh, liking it to knit with), with ribbon twist clocks, but I need to sneakily check her feet size, for that full-on surprise effect. The third, for me, me, me, in STR, is fully in potentia.

Then, the promises. The sweater for my godson, with a digger on the front (though mum keeps campaigning for a dinosaur). Promised for his birthday, in July, but it means intarsia in cotton, and I am afeared of the evil cotton colour combining. (I should make it in wool, but that boy likes his handknits, has a habit of wearing them there and then, and I don't want to be accused of giving him sun-stroke.) The matching-but-not-identical pretty pretty things for the matching-but-not-identical pretty pretty new young twins. The pretty pretty things for the singular, but equally pretty pretty other new young girl (although I have a cunning plan for this, which involves the work of another, and I hope will be revealed soon).

And, of course, the Iceland thing. Which at the moment is still very much being planned, the key to which seems to be an incredibly avaricious purchasing of extra goodies (shiny things, little beady things, sparkly glittery things, and if I'm not careful I'm going to end up with some kind of mutated steam-roller flattened my little pony/barbie princess things). That, and getting all down and dirty with some matches, 'cos I was doing the burn test on various acquired, but not labelled, and might be useful, and if you are sure I can take them, otherwise they might be thrown away, yarns.

Hmmm, I seem to have moved from named, planned, but inappropriate, to completely sand-castle in the Severn estuary when the tidal bore is coming it will be something someday but not quite sure what 'things'. And wasted innumerable words on really nothing at all.

Aha, an idea to make up for it. Go and look at the pretty pictures of the knitted garden. Then bow your head in grief for the loss of the tortoise who went missing in Glasgow, but cross your fingers and hope that young Shep will track him down.

(The camera has now been found, knocked down behind the bed following a cat climbing bookshelves in search of food incident. The camera seems unharmed, the cat.... And yes, my life is this boring. How boring? Well, boring enough to find it hysterically funny when reminded by a 'friend' that I have not known the beast with two yadda yadda yadda since the last century. That boring.)

new homes

2006-03-24T15:43:00.003Z

(cos daddy is a football fan)

I'm feeling deeply virtuous today, because not only have I done some knitting, but I have given knitting away.

First, some deeply silly little things made their way, with the help of some post-people and planes, trains and automobiles, all the way to Canada - to the home of Chub Creek. Where, apparently, it can get very cold, and pop-screen covers and microphones need keeping warm. Now, I'm a radio baby (a house isn't complete without a radio in every room), and I love me some talk radio. And if the presenter happens to be just a slightly bit odd, in a good way, and there is maybe a bit of music thrown in, nothing makes me happier. So, it is perfectly natural that I also love me some podcasts. And young Dave, co-host extraordinaire of Chub Creek (Gary is on sabbatical at the moment), took his life in his hands recently, stepped up the mark, and guested for Brenda Dayne's Cast-on (episode 15) a couple of weeks ago. Brave man, to tackle the might of the addi-turbo users, being a non-knitter, and I thought he did such a good job that he needed some kind of reward (well, that, and I was bored, and he mentioned that his pop-screen was looking a little dishevelled). So I forced a reward upon him. And he said he liked them (or else he is scared of what a pair of addi turbos might do). So.

By the way, Sage of Quirky Nomads guested for Brenda (episode 16) as well - and did a gem of a job. And this week Franklin of The Panopticon will be guesting - breaking news is that Dolores will not be involved (some disagreement over harmonica solos), which is probably a blessing in disguise. (Seriously, listening to podcasts, if you have the technology and inclication, is a wonderful way to spend some time, so go, listen, and if you like, send them some cookies, as Brenda would say.)

But back to the giving away of the knits. 'Cos this week I also got to go and see some friends, and meet their brand new twin girls. (I would say they are little, but at 6 pounds a piece, for twins not so little). Gratifyingly, I could tell them apart, but just in case I brought with me a couple of hats, matching, but not identical. (The girls themselves were a little camera shy - but imagine dinky little ones scootched down in the bassinet in the photo, below their matching, but not identical hats). And, because Daddy is a football fan, they are in his favourite team's colours. Because a man needs to sit between his daughters, on the sofa, in front of the TV, all cheering for the same team together, in matching, but not identical, hats. And mum got the olympic knit shawl, because new mothers need something warm and soft and comforting to wrap up in.

And it is good that I am feeling virtuous, because I have been being selfish, and keeping secrets. If you are a habitual knit-blog crawler, you may have come across mention of Socks that Rock, the new über-yarn for sock knitters. And you may also have heard of the Socks that Rock Club (look, they even have their own KAL). And then cried and wailed and stamped your feet, because at first, they were only going to ship to North America. But, if you are really lucky, you get emergency emails from friend-nablers (Snow, have I told you how wonderful you are, and thanked you enough for the heads-up?), who tell you that they will ship to the UK, but you need to order 'schnell, schnell, schnell', because the club is almost full? And because I am selfish, I didn't share the news, because I wanted to keep the yarn all to myself. And it is a good thing, the giving away of knits, because my socks that rock kit arrived this morning, and it is beauteous and righteous, and if I hadn't been giving away knits, my karma would have been seriously kicked into the negative. Because the yarn is beauteous and righteous, and I was a bad, bad knit-blogger, not to share.

Now, though, I think I'd better go and knit some more to give away, just to make sure.

nmk

2006-03-20T12:16:00.000Z

(an example of NMK, being possible elements of the
"evoking Iceland shawl")

This past week has been devoted to being not terribly productive at all. But if I wanted to spin it (I love spin), I would say I indulged in the latest trend - New Minimalist Knitting*.

New Minimalist Knitting is fantastic. The solution to all of those knitting mojo-less moments. The solution to spending all your time in the newest amphibian aquarium. The solution to when knitting time is limited, ideas are non-existent, and all round cack-handedness rules. It is, in fact, the Emperor's New Clothes of the yarn world.

To practice New Minimalist Knitting, take a ball or two of yarn, unwind just a little, then place it on the floor, a shelf, a pretty plate, drape it on the window sill, toss it on a chair. (The advanced NMKer need not even take the yarn out of their stash.) Then - and this is the really clever part - you stand back, admire, and pronounce done. (You can always take a photo for your records.)

There may be those who lack the imagination, or rigourous training in NMK (there are group courses available, of course, contact your LYS for details, but an intensive series of one-to-one sessions, where the master NMKer comes to your home, is the best way to go), and complain that a ball of yarn has been left somewhere inconvenient, with threads hanging off, just waiting to trip them up. But sit them down, and explain that if they concentrate really, really hard, they will begin to see the finished item. With focus, they will soon be able to visualise the days and weeks and hours of planning, of knitting, of finishing. Slowly, the yarn will be transformed, threads will pick themselves up, and loop together, knotting delicately, but with absolute surety, into swathes of knitted beauty. The potentiality of the yarn has been achieved. And all is good with the world.

*both photo and phrase coined by Puplet, who was having a bit of a silly weekend. I think he might have been at the catnip.

being silly, wasting time

2006-03-15T14:24:00.000Z

Not blocked, or decently finished, but because I (foolishly) said I would make something for a non-knitting Canadian.

Just over 4 inches wide, in Margaret Stove's laceweight, on 1.5mm/000USA needles. Just because.

Don't believe me? Kitten for scale.

(see, it is very, very small, but 200 stitches around!)

Pattern taken from Marianne Kinzel's Maple Garland Christening Shawl, from her 2nd book of Modern Lace Knitting.

And I also made them a spoon cover. I don't know why, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I think I'm in avoidance mode.

once, I must have done something good...

2006-03-09T15:43:00.000Z

because the other day, I got sent this.

And this isn't just ordinary wool, either. This is special, surprise wool, present wool, bouncy, soft, comes from a named flock wool (the Pyefinch flock, if anyone wants to know), lace weight wensleydale wool, creamy gorgeousness that must be used for something good wool. And all because Ms Ruth WoollyWormhead is a kind and generous person, who fell for my 'pity me, pity me' posts about having 'flu (in winter too, who would have thought).

And the wool has passed the cat test, and been pronounced good. But because this wool came out of the left field, it is demanding that it be treated differently, and it wants to evoke, EVOKE, I tell you.

So although there is knitting going on (no, I didn't shut down completely after, what was it now, some kind of knotting or macrame jamboree, but it was close), and things are being done, and things put away half-done are being brought out of storage to complete, and there are some projects that have due dates (who knew that small boys could be so very demanding as to precise colour combinations and models of diggers to be depicted). And that is all very fine and good, and fun and productive and, and, and. But my mind is dreaming of creamy white swirls.

And the wool, it wants to be this when it grows up. It wants to be the trip to Iceland I made years ago now, the trip where I heard silence, walked behind waterfalls, talked and talked and talked (and sat in silence, quite comfortably) with a very dear friend, found lava and sulphur and guinness and amazingly good coffee, and black sand and sunlight (oh, the light), and ice lakes. So now, I just have to work out how.

the stats edition

2006-03-02T17:19:00.000Z

Well, the shawl has now been test-worn (thanks Blueadt, and I didn't really mean to wrestle you to the floor to get it back), and confirmed as warm, if just a tad sheddy.

From tip to tip, relaxed after blocking, it measures 80 inches across, and 30 inches top to bottom (just over 2 metres, and 76cm for the metric crowd).

It took 16 balls of Artesano Alpaca Inca Cloud (a fair trade yarn from Bolivia) in Chocolate (a shy 8 balls, with the extra for joining) and Oatmeal (nearly all of 8 balls), or 2096 yards, or 1920 metres, and weighs in at 800gms, or 1.7lbs, knit on 4mm/USA6 needles. In other words, it is rather large, but then I am only 5'1".

I based the shape on the Litla Dimun Shawl, from Cheryl Oberle's 'Folk Shawls', used Bridget Rorem's Lace Alphabet from Piecework Magazine May/June 1998, and the gusset patterns were from Barbara G. Walker. I consulted Myrna Stahman's 'Shawls & Scarves', 'Faroese Knitting Patterns: Knitted Shawls' translated by Marilyn van Keppel, and the Faroese Shawl pattern, again by Marilyn van Keppel, in Meg Swansen's 'A Gathering of Lace'. And the final, invaluable, source was Carol Connors' webpages on Faroese Shawls and Lace Knitting. You see, a truly collaborative effort. (Oh, and thanks as well to some friends who might have been rung at odd hours of the day, and had to listen to me babble incoherently about how you calculate the size of a right angle triangle, how to calculate gauge, and how to estimate the amount of yarn needed - all of which I got badly wrong.)

The yarn itself was fairly well behaved, although the chocolate was quite fragile when you unwrapped the 2 strands to spit splice (and it took a lot of spit too). Oddly, the oatmeal colour was more robust - because it was undyed? - but also more unevenly spun. Still, I was more than happy with the yarn for this shawl, as I wanted something that hinted at the rustic.

The inspiration for the colours and shape came from the film Babette's Feast, which I watched, again, a few months ago, and realised that knitter is now part of my identity. But the overall inspiration was Yarnharlot herself, and all the knitbloggers I have 'met'.

Finally, thank you all for your kind comments - when I started blogging, I told myself I didn't care if no-one visited, or if no-one commented, as I was writing to get over my fear of the hard, physical, written down word, rather than the ephemera, and easily forgettable, of the spoken. But as I've moved around the blogosphere, stopping in on others, sometimes staying, sometimes moving on, sometimes even commenting myself, I've realised that there is a real person looking at a computer screen somewhere else, and that this is all a conversation. And words themselves are fine and dandy, but the real treasure is that there is someone to talk with. (But if you don't comment, don't worry, I love you too - and I know you are there, because my stat counter tells me so. And if you've commented and I haven't replied, it is because blogger won't give me your email address, and that I am often useless.)

Finally, finally, that is the closest you will get to seeing a photo of me, so count yourselves lucky. (Puplet took the photos, by the way.)

And finally, finally, finally, brownie points and cleverness to Mary-Lou - and have you seen what she got a gold for! - for having picked up on the church bell reference in the motto, which she privately identified as having been pinched from Dorothy L. Sayers 'The Nine Tailors', a tale of murder, mystery, and campanology. (Lord Peter Wimsey, be still my beating heart.)

it's the taking part that counts, right?

2006-02-28T03:05:00.000Z

One more day, that was all I needed, one measly 24 hours. Well, that, and drying time, and decent light to take a half-way decent photo. But the Olympic Knit, she is done.

So what did I learn? That in a perfect world, I could have knit a Faroese style shawl, with lining, in 16 days (I did the lining in 5 days). But the world isn't perfect, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Am I sorry I missed out on the medals? No. Most defiantly, definitely not. Because it is seldom that I drag myself out of my default state of torpor, and actually bother to apply myself. And I did, for this. I went and learnt about Faroese shawls, just a bit. I went and worked on my charting, just a bit. I even tried some maths, just a bit (and know that I need to go back to school, because the state of my maths is abysmal). I set myself a challenge to try something new, and I did.

I joined in, and I'm not really a joiner. I visited new blogs, met new bloggers, been astounded by the work they do, and by their generosity. (And greatly appreciated the generosity of those who were sane, did not take part in the K.O., and yet still indulged this madness in others.) I've thought about what the meaning of community is (hey, I've got a background in social anthropology), and applauded the efforts of thousands around the world.

I took some time out, to concentrate on one thing only, tried it on for size, and confirmed that I don't really work that way, though I can, if I have to.

I learnt that I'm not afraid of knitting, I'm not afraid of getting it wrong, of making a mess, because things are fixable, work-roundable, forgivable.

And although you can't see it (I'll try and get some better photos up over the next couple of days), the slogan around the bottom of the shawl is * K O * YARNHARLOT GAVE ME * T S F [for Tricoteuses sans frontières] * KNITBLOGGERS MADE ME *. The lace on the panel is, from the bottom up, fir cone, christmas tree, and snowflake.

Right, I'm off now, to make some socks. And if anyone knows anyone who is really, really cold, I happen to have a seriously warm, two-layered alpaca shawl lying around, that needs a good home.

saturday morning

2006-02-26T02:21:00.000Z

I'm taking bets - do you think I can make it?

By Saturday night, under 2 balls to go. Sadly, I think I am just about peverse enough to finish the knit. (And when all this is over, someone make me go out and get a life.)

The big question is, how fast does alpaca dry.

upgraded

2006-02-22T15:07:00.000Z

susoolu: I'm ill.
Doctor: You sure?
susoolu: Yes.
Doctor: If you say so.
susoolu: For 8 days.
Doctor: Flu?
susoolu: Yes.
Doctor: Cough?
susoolu: Yes.
Doctor: Blood?
susoolu: Yes.
Doctor: Bronchitis.
susoolu: Thought so.
Mad man: Could be TB.
susoolu: (throwing of scabby tissues at doctor) Don't be so stupid.
Doctor: Just saying, makes it more exciting. But okay, probably not.
susoolu: How did the English exam go? [Doctor had to pass exam to get sabbatical and work in Australia for 6 months. Bastard.]
Disgruntled Student: I passed, but my waffle wasn't 100%.
susoolu: Are you sure? Maybe you should get the marks checked.
Doctor: Yeah, you know, brought down by mandatory medical illegible handwriting.
susoolu: It happens. Where are you going in Australia?
Travel agent: Here, let me show you on GoggleEarth. [10 minute discussion on merits of Australia, swimming with sharks, medical systems globally]
susoolu: I should probably go now. Can I have my prescription?

I've given in, and am now officially ill. I think it was the refusing of caffeine which might have been the tip off. But the good news is, I get magic little blue pills, which will make everything feel better. (There are times when my love for penicillin, in all its forms, rivals my love for shetland spun yarn.)

That said, the Shawl (part 1) will be off the needles tonight. (Yippee! Said very quietly, as anything above sotto voce brings on a phlegm attack.) So I will sort out the provisional cast-on, and head for blocking. There is an outside chance that there might be photos tomorrow.

Thanks for all the suggestions re alternatives to knitting a lining. Still, 4 days left, so surely a lining is possibly (I now have magic blue pills to help). Okay, so that may be my oxygen-starved brain talking, but I will not surrender, nor lay down my needles, nor put away my yarn, until the flame has died! Knit on, knit on, and knit again.

still no pictures (and I'm still not ill)

2006-02-17T21:17:00.000Z

(I apologise for any incoherence, crabbiness, rambling, etc., etc., but I'm not ill.)

What, you want a picture of a large and unwieldly pile of brown shawl? Ain't going to happen, not today. Cos I'm not ill, and I haven't had a fever, and I'm not behind, and I'm not surrounded by used tissues, and I'm not cranky. But I am lying. (I'm ill enough to have spent most of this week asleep, taking painkillers, and drinking lots of liquids, but not ill enough to go to the doctor, who would just say go to sleep, take painkillers, and drink lots of liquids. Hrmph. But I'm getting better, because I'm now getting pouty cross with it all.)

Okay, so I will finish the shawl - I'm on row 72 (of 200 or so), and the dream about casting on 441 stitches, and then losing some every other row, is it all goes faster and faster. So I will finish the shawl. But, and this is where it gets tricky - I did sign up and say I would also knit a lining. Miles and miles of garter stitch. And then there is the blocking, and the joining together. It's the lining that scares me! And does anyone know when on 26th the flame is due to go out? (That, and I'm having to sacrifice blog-reading time, to olympic knitting and being not ill, which is poohy.)

But I have learned one thing. Do not attempt a spit splice if you have a) just eaten crisps/dry biscuits, or b) just swigged the really sticky cough medicine.

if I ever

2006-02-15T01:27:00.000Z

mention anything again that involves me doing my own charts, can someone please, please, take me gently by the hand, lead me outside, and then hit me repeatedly around the head with a mouldy kipper.

After having successfully identified that I was trying to fit a 28 stitch pattern into 25 stitches, I merrily went on my knitting way. And another row was done. (Look, that makes 20 rows.)

Then, I realised that having corrected the quart into pint pot basic error, I now had a whole stuffing a quart into a teaspoon error. Because in shuffling the 28 stitches, I had somehow forgotten it would then impact on the next 200 stitches, and throw the second half of each and every knit row out. Yes, I get points for thinking ahead.

Yippee, more counting, figuring, refiguring. Problem fixed. 21 rows completed (379 to go). 4 rows later, I see that there was indeed a much easier fix, which didn't involve throwing what little symmetry I had out the window. A fix that I had already suggested to myself in my notes, but been too lazy to mark up. The notes that have been scanned, photocopied, with back-ups left in fire-and-water-and-act-of-God proof safes, and carried near 800 miles since the Knitting Olympics began. The notes that I had not consulted. The notes that are now muddy and wet, after the cat came in from the cold and sat on them, twice (I think she might be a double-agent - come on, which team has been bribing her with tuna fish?).

Make that two mouldy kippers.

so I might have got distracted

2006-02-13T14:06:00.000Z

So I might have got just a little bit distracted from the Olympic Knit - but I had to do something, to stop myself casting on before the actual pyromaniac moment. So, in the front, the start of a sock which actually seems to marry yarn and pattern well, unlike the poor Oriel sock - Nancy Bush's Conwy, from her 'Knitting on the Road' in the Motherlode colourway from Lorna's Laces. (See, I do learn. Although it seems to be the kind of learning which comes from my own numbwitted experience, and not from listening to the better advice of others. Were you the kind of child who would still put their hand in a fire, even though they had been told, repeatedly, that a fire is very hot, and it would burn, and it would hurt, and you still did it anyway, just to check? Are you kind of person that is irresistibly drawn to push the large red button that says 'do not press, under any circumstances'? Because I was that child, and I am that person. Mmmm, large red buttons...)

Anyway, hiding in the back of the photo, being a little ruff to keep the ball of alpaca warm, is the very small beginnings of the 'It is meant to be a Faroese Shawl, but it seems to be trying to develop a confused identity all of its own Shawl' official olympic object.

But I'm home now, after an exciting weekend playing with my godson down in London (and he has not given me a bug, I am not coughing, I am not losing my voice, I do not have a fever, and I do not want to crawl back into bed surrounded by cats), and I'm optimistic. Particularly now that I have stopped trying to fit a 28 stitch pattern into what was, is, and always will be 25 stitches wide.

Is there an olympic medal for having successfully navigated the knitter's own stupidity?

Oh, and new excitement over in the side-bar. Pixeldiva cracked (knew someone would), and volunteered herself to set up a Team GB blog, at the very last moment. Go look, there is some good knitting there, and surely medals are in the offing.

olympic dreams

2006-02-09T18:37:00.000Z

GOOD LUCK KNITTING OLYMPIANS

into the pit we go

2006-02-05T20:11:00.000Z

I hate what flash does to photographs - but I'm on a deadline, here, and haven't got time to even try and take a photo properly.

And what is the photo of? Why, it is of my olympic knit kit entry - aka 'it started out as a Faroese Shawl, and it is now taking over my life'. I think, with hindsight (and because people are beginning to glaze over when I start talking), I may just be taking this all a bit too seriously. That said, I have managed to lure some others into the game, even though they play on the dark side (with crochet hooks, that is).

I have yarn - although I am seriously worried that I have enough, and am laying the groundwork for getting my hands on emergency supplies. I have books - many, many books. Too many books. And I am consulting them all. I have needles - at least 8 4mm circulars, because I keep forgetting that I have some, and go and buy some more. I have charts - well sort of. What I do have is a growing pile of paper with scribbles (don't worry, I recycle). I do, at least, have the start of a chart (the border pattern is 390 stitches. The border pattern repeat is 390 stitches. Impressive, I think). And I know what designs will be on the gusset (I love that word, gusset, it fits so well with lace, but I have difficulty calling it a trapezoid, as I was never very good at maths). I have websites - I have a large and every growing bookmark folder, containing the addresses of people far better at knitting than I, and I am mercilessly raiding their pages, looking for advice. I have, as it turns out, a very indulgent housemate - who this very evening announced I had special dispensation during the knitting olympics to be next to useless about anything house-bound (I think he may have realised that 8 circular needles could be dangerous in the hands of a knitter over the edge). I have swatches - in the wrong yarn, to play with the patterns, and in the right yarn, to work out gauge. Did I say I have swatches? They keep following me around the house, they attach themselves to my clothes, my shoes, my bags (I think they may be trying to communicate, that or trying to smother me), and there are little yarn tail trails waiting in doorways, at the top of stairs, in the kitchen, in the bed, just waiting. I have a calculator - that is wimpering for help, begging me to stop pounding its buttons, and to stop screaming when it doesn't give the answers I want (told you I was not good at maths).

I have 5 days - I have not enough time.

But, I am part of Team GB (go team GB!), and I say - to the sounds of over-blown patriotic music - never surrender.

Oh, and Mary-Lou, you are no doubt right that the kitten was after the butter and eggs. But seriously, there was the peel and juice of 5 large lemons in there, and the curd could fell a charging yak.

Edited to add:

Jenla have allowed (encouraged?) me to make a fool of myself all over their blog. I'd like to thank them, again, for their sterling work in covering the Knitting Olympics (and assure everyone that my views do not necessarily reflect those of Team GB - Go Team GB!).

of poetry (and because I forgot before)

2006-02-02T17:50:00.000Z

A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading

Fence Shadows

Nothing much is going to change
the clumps of yarrow, but in five minutes
the fence shadows will reach them
I can't judge the difference until it happens
and staring will only put me to sleep

Two girls are coming up Betty's Creek
trying to catch butterflies
but not trying hard enough, laughing
Someone in cities is wishing he were here
And I'm wishing ... Oh, well, nothing much

- Michael Mott, from 'Woman and the Sea', Anhinga Press, 1998, Tallahassee, Florida.

Grace's Poppies had the idea, which I found on Creating Text(iles).

of winter colours

2006-02-02T15:47:00.000Z

Oh, I had so many plans. I had timetables and lists, this will happen, then that will happen, then the other and another and the next. But the dominoes fell the wrong way, and the other and another and the next are still undone.

Ah, I seem to be feeling not blue, but muted. So, a quick report, possible rambling, and a question at the end.

Olympic Training

Is pending the arrival of inspiration (and books). The pre-game cardigan, mentioned earlier, and shown above, is started, and meant to be finished for the opening ceremony. I have one week. It is garter stitch. It will need sewing. I still need to make olympic charts. Bets, anyone?

But the Habu yarn, of 'paper' (a specially treated linen) and silk mohair, in perfect winter colours, is fascinating, if slow to work, and very, very strong - the kitten* took the knitting for a run, the length and back of a living room via two chairs and a trunk, without it breaking. And Japanese charts are breathtaking in their simplicity and economy, and actually rather fun to work with. Once used error has been corrected.

Pixeldiva (go visit, she does take beautiful photographs) mentioned the wonderful tata-tatao site, built by a Japanese couple devoted to knitting, who will take you gently by the hand, and guide you through. It is a great resource if you ever do need help with Japanese patterns (but you still need to get over the hump caused by user idiocy and error).

And finally, cats are meant to dislike citrus, no? So why was the kitten* caught dipping her paw into the home-made lemon curd, again?

* the kitten is currently on time-out for bad behaviour. Therefore she is being referred to either as 'the kitten', or by her full name of Frangipani Weasel.

you meet them in the oddest of places*

2006-01-28T00:34:00.000Z

If you are a woman, you will know that every so often, you have to trot along to have a rather intimate part of your body poked with what can only be described as an instrument of torture (which is usually either too cold, or too hot, if it has been under the tap for too long), have bits of your flesh scraped away, and all while lounging in a truly undignified position, under a scrap of tissue paper, if you are lucky.

Now in the UK, your local health authority sends you a letter, suggesting you call in for this periodic humilitation. So dutifully, you call, book in with the nurse (GPs are far above this sort of thing), turn up, and are escorted down the hall to the one room which has a curtain over the door. Up you pop, dear, I'll be back in 2 minutes.

Now, I was ready. I got there on time, to be told there was a half hour wait. So out came the makings of the second Oriel sock (no, I will not succumb to the dreaded SSS), and I cast on, and knit a couple of rounds. I checked against the completed sock (told you I was prepared), and cast on again, getting the colour sequence right, this time. I even managed to co-ordinate being called in when I had just finished a row. But this will be over quick, I thought, so the sock got stuffed in the bag.

I 'disrobed', arranged the sheet of covering paper, and waited. And waited, and waited. So I hopped down, grabbed my sock, and was caught, deshabille (forgive the lack of accents), as the door opened. Oh, but sweet knitterly saviours, she was a knitter too. (As an aside, and after some serious googling, I could invoke the name of St Fiacra, who some claim is the patron saint of knitting - though Richard Rutt, in his 'History of Hand Knitting' disagrees - and, as it turns out, venereal disease and haemorrhoids, but I won't.) And she perfectly understood that I might have a sock with me, and we looked at the yarn, discussed the pattern, I fished out the finished sock, she admired, I blushed, we debated the merits of dpns vs circs, had a little natter about knitting baby clothes, the virtues of having something to do of an evening, how knitting has become so popular recently, where the best local yarn shops are, and on and on, and all the while I am trying desperately to maintain my modesty. But, in the end, what is modesty between knitters, anyway?

Olympic Training

Swatches are now being made of potential patterns, but due to yarn economy (and my fear that 2,000 yards may not be enough for the shawl), they are being made, stickily, in a found acrylic. Oh, my hands.

And for light relief, I am learning how to read Japanese patterns. Because if I have to go and be all cultural down in London that first weekend of the K.O. (I don't think they let you knit in a theatre in the West End) I want something spiffy to wear, and Habu kits of linen and silk mohair are surely spiffy enough for the great and good of them down south. I also figure that if I can figure out Japanese schematics (3 hours with pen and paper and mental maths to work out where I went wrong twice already, and that's only for half the back) then a bit of lace charting will be a doddle.

Hmmm. Memo to self, pride goeth before....

Have a fun weekend, folks.

* you didn't seriously expect a photo of this?

in which a variety

2006-01-23T17:59:00.000Z

Well, I finished the first of the Oriel/Lorna's Laces socks, shown here stuffed and mounted on 'the knitter's chair'.

Things I have learnt - oriel sock

Variegated yarn and much stitch patterning really don't mix very well - both seem slightly diminished, and it seems more a marriage of convenience than one of true love.
Oriel is a nice enough lacy stitch pattern, but it does puff out somewhat fiercesome. Now I don't have the skinniest legs in the world, but nor do I have a chronic water retention problem - yet put an oriel on, and your ankles seem to swell. (Maybe if I had used a heel flap and gusset it wouldn't have pooched so much.)
Charlene Schurch's Oriel schematic is a 'generous' pattern - if you are knitting for a smaller foot circumference within a gauge band be prepared for a slightly looser fit.
Lorna's Laces shepherd sock, as a yarn, holds up well to mistreatment. I must have cast on and ripped 8 times before finally making up my mind - and the yarn showed virtually no sign of degradation.
Lorna's Laces shepherd sock seems a 'clean' yarn, but that lack of furze around the strand makes it more likely your holes, where no holes are meant to be, will show. The SSSPs and K3togs coming back up the short row heel are gappier than I would like, even if you make sure your yarn overs are tight, and you drop down to a size 2mm/US0 needle. (Speaking with vast (in)experience as a sock knitter - I've made a whole 4 and a half pairs so far, and I must be experienced, because I think I'm about to hit second sock syndrome - the Regia Silk sock yarn has that little bit of furze to it, which hides those holes better.)

Do I like the sock? It's okay, and I've learnt more through its making. Will I make the second sock? Well, yes, but maybe not right now, because I am in

...Olympic Training...

Training has begun, yarn chosen, swatches made, gauge is being calculated at this very moment, and charts are still in the mythical 'what if I try this' stage. Will I expire from all the excitement, and how many social engagements can I turn down during the K.O. MMIV? Does anybody have any ideas on how to explain to non-participants/non-knitters why you would just love to see them, and how it is wonderful of them to suggest that you all meet up in London for the weekend, do some shopping, catch some culture, eat a little, drink a little, before they fly back to Italy, but it's the Knitting Olympics, and you're just not sure that you have the time?

Oh, and to those absolutely fabulous knotty girls over at JenLa, thank you, thank you for the buttonmania you have created - you are welcome to come and ransack my home for anything your little warped hearts desire (just keep your Uncle Sam mits off my stash.) Just scooch your eyes on over to the side-bar, and you will see the little beauty they made for Team GB (and note, too, how they acknowledge the betterness of our disorganised team).

To all those nice people who have commented (not those nasty ones who try to sell me things, which is why I have gone all moderation for a while). Thank you. You make me go all warm and fuzzy inside. And you are teaching me to be a better blogger, and making me pay attention to the community that lives down my ADSL line. But I'm still not 100% there at getting back in touch with you to thank you personally (would you believe I get a little shy?), so I'll thank you publicly instead.

And finally, the 'Don't they grow up so fast' section.

Little Fran, pictured a month ago, who this weekend turned into a writhing, yowling mess of hormones. I've never seen a cat 'in heat' close up before, and it isn't pretty. She must be older than we thought (or else just very advanced for her age), as her op was scheduled for some time in February. It can't come too soon - the local toms are hovering, the cat flap is barricaded, we are tired of being presented with her bottom, and Susie and Sootie, resident spinster cats, are tired of being propositioned in their own home. Only last week Fran was playing hide the mouse, and now it is an entirely different mouse she wants to hide. (I'm really sorry for that last bit, but for a little cat she can make an awful lot of noise, and keep it up for a very long time - 4 hours of come-hither calling a night means I haven't had much sleep, and my judgment may have gone walkabouts.)

Right, back to the swatches.

verus, insanus, profundus*

2006-01-19T13:02:00.000Z

I slept, and hoped sanity would come. It didn't, my fingers walked on over to Yarn Harlot's (it could have been the cats walking on the keyboard, being the evil things that they are), and signed me up.

I know there are a few other Team GB entrants out there - will we uphold the honour of Torvill and Dean, or channel the spirit of Eddie 'the eagle'?

Will anyone be sane by the end? Will the build-up be too much? Will I peak to early, produce beautiful swatches, and then crash and burn (it doesn't start until 10th Feb)?

Why do I feel like such a 'suck-er'?

If anyone wants to know, I will be attempting some kind of hap shawl, based on a combination of the Litla Dimun Shawl from 'Folk Shawls', out of the Faroese Shawl from 'Gathering of Lace', with possibly a few bar sinister elements thrown in. For bonus points I will be attempting a lining. Being not completely insane (yet), this will not be in laceweight, but in a nice, cosy, recommended needle size 4mm/US6 alpaca.

Now, does anyone have any tips on how to knit while relaxing in the bath?

* truly, madly, deeply. I'll stop with the Latin now, I promise.

lentus, infernus, flaccidus*

2006-01-18T15:53:00.000Z

Surely everyone reads that crazed Canadian, who has issued yet another of her challenges to the blogging world.

I'm tempted, sorely tempted, and trying hard to resist. It would be all to easy to be sucked in, dreams of olympic gold hanging tantalisingly ahead, but I have a feeling that my ambition could get the better of me. So, for all those British bloggers who may be tempted, may I remind them of saga of 'Eddie "the eagle" Edwards. So brave, yet so very, very foolish (and the song was just so very, very wrong).

Now, if only Ms. Harlot would include a medal for those who try, and fail, in the grandest manner possible, I might just sign up - perhaps a medal for the largest yarnball splat?

* Or slower, lower, wimpier. I truly apologize to those whose Latin is considerably better than mine. Points for effort, though?

Mulligans

2006-01-15T22:01:00.000Z

I've been casting around in the dregs of my memory for that golfing do-over term - which I could have sworn was actually MacGuffin - to describe my current state of mind and knitting. I almost feel like I'm groundhog daying it (but I never really liked the film), given the number of times I have plotted, planned, cast-on, and then gone amphibian on both the items above. I've got to admit, though, that Lorna's Laces Lion and Lamb and Shepherd Sock are holding up pretty well with my inability to treat them well.

But at least now I'm an eighth of the way home, having finally sorted a pattern, and a needle size (2mm/0) for the socks, and made it all the way up to the heel on the first, without too many traumas. Using one of my xmas presents to myself, Charlene Schurch's 'Sensational Knitted Socks' (with heel help from my other xmas present to myself, Priscilla A. Gibson-Roberts' 'Simple Socks', short rowing all the way, baby), I settled on the Oriel pattern*.

Now I know I'm breaking the rules, using a relatively detailed lace pattern with a variegated yarn, and risking losing the benefit of either or both. But the yarn said it wanted to be vaguely stained glass church window like, and the pattern said it was vaguely stained glass church window like, too. And so I put them both together, and I think they look quite pretty, even if a little busy.

But the Lion and Lamb, oh somebody put me out of my misery, and that poor innocent yarn out to pasture. I have 3 skeins, which seems enough for a wide scarf/narrow stole for a friend/colleague. And I know I could Clap along with it. And indeed I did start, but only got as far as one hand clapping, because I've already made a clapotis, and I want to try something new, new, new.

I've tried ribbon ribs, cobweb frills, leaning ladders, brioche ribs, seafoam patterns and vertical drop stitch ribs**. I've played with needle sizes. I've thought about long and thin, short and squat. I've put that poor yarn through torture, and nothing is quite right. It doesn't want to be too lacy, but it doesn't want to be too plain. It wants a bit of texture, but still wants to drape. I'm beginning to think that the dye job may have affected the yarn's brain, leaving it all of atwirl and incapable of making a decision. And I am sorely tempted to give up, and just give her the skeins, some needles, the clapotis pattern, and force her to reawaken her long neglected knitting skills. Now that would be a good present, wouldn't it?

Is anyone else's mind in that twittering state, or is it only me? Bring on Monday, I say, so I can force myself to make lists and do things.

* Barbara G. in her 'Second Treasury of Knitting Patterns' says, on p.289, that Oriel is a "very old and exquisitely beautiful lace pattern that has been unjustly forgotten within the past six or seven decades. This one is never seen today, because hardly anyone knows it. But it is very lovely, and easy to work as well...." I'm in hyperefficient housekeeping adding in extra unnecessary info just because mode today, and all because I went and cleaned the kitchen floor this morning, don't you know.

** Yes, I've got all 4 of the Barbara G. Walker books, and Mary Thomas too. I'm a knitting book slut, I am.

little bits

2006-01-09T17:26:00.001Z

Things may have been quiet here, but there has been just a little bit of needle action. Acting as a cushion is a scarf for a friend, meant for xmas, but given for the new year, in Rowan cashsoft. A pair of green socks, for me, because they needed to be finished. And because I must have done something right, at least once, a gift from Crystal Webs, of a beautiful crochet wire necklace.

Things I have learnt - scarf

Cashsoft is very, very warm.
Cashsoft is a nice yarn, but even that little bit of microfibre makes my hands twitchy. Not enough to not use it, but enough to make me question using it for a larger item.
Brioche rib is wonderful, so quick, so 'I'm just that little bit more interesting and elegant than a plain rib', so bouncy (although the yarn could have something to do with it), and so rhythmic to knit.
Fringes are fun.

Things I have learnt - simple irregular rib socks

Socks should not take 6 months to knit (oh, the shame, I checked and I started these way back when).
As clever as 2 socks on 2 circs is, they grow so much faster, for me, knit one at a time.
Short row heels fit me perfectly.
Knitting through the back of the loops is not the same as purling through the back of the loops, but if the yarn is thin, the needles are thin, and the pattern is plain, then you can get away with it, just about.
A grafting cast-off works just fine around the cuff, but make sure it is loose (one sock is perfect, one has that pulling-in tight thing going on).
Regia silk is glorious stuff, and so warm, but will easily catch and pull (especially if you walk around in stockinged feet, on imperfect floorboards).
I am so, so close to making my perfect sock. Soon, my pretties, soon.

Things I have learnt - gifts

Luring friends into the needle arts pays off, as you get beautiful, one-off, custom-made gifts. And if I ever lend the necklace back to Crystal Webs (yeah, you think I'm letting that necklace go?), she can tell you how it was done.

Finally, just because there is a small kitten in the house, a picture of a small kitten doing the things a small kitten does.

because I have absolutely nothing else to do (not even my taxes)

2006-01-06T17:36:00.000Z

And because I am just a little bit scared of them (although I am sure they are very nice really, they did threaten to hunt all non-compliers down and presumably do something unspecified yet no doubt unspeakably awful to them), here is my JenLa inspired avatar.

She may not seem that fugly, but she's the kind of woman who scares the bejebus out of me. You just know that sub-Mantovani is going to be blasting out of her handy portable stereo (which D.V.jr has to carry, as she couldn't possibly risk ruining her manicure), that perfect Ms. M. Stewart 'picnic food to serve at your daughter's playing off for third place football game' (well, clearly the referee at little Mandi-beau's last game was biased against the Twinkle-Bootie Stars, and I will be making an official complaint, just you wait and see) will be coming out of her matching tupperware, and that any dog coming anywhere near little Fi-belle is a nasty nasty great dirty brutish beast who should be locked up (well I know little Fi-belle is in heat, but I just couldn't leave her at home, and she just hates to be tied up, and how dare you imply that my little treasure is a slut), and that overall your life would just be better if you went and moved as far away as possible from that nails on a blackboard voice (I'm so glad those common people have moved, if they had lit that b-b-q and smoke runied my new hairdo I don't know what I would do, and it is such an old and greasy looking b-b-q that I'm sure it would send out sparks, and you just know how flammable nylon is, but isn't this the most darling little casual outfit for our little party, isn't it going to be so much fun, and it is so inappropriate to bring beer to a junior soccer match, don't you think, D.V.jr, and I think I should complain to the schoolboard about them). Don't you just love a woman who can suck all the joy out of anything.

If you want to play along, better be quick!

dormant

2006-01-02T00:56:00.000Z

I have forgotten that each year I tend to go to ground over the whole xmas/newyear period. Well, why should I remember, when out of circumstance and choice it is a time of not even being busy doing nothing. But the days are rolling over now, and the outside world will start to push back in through the letter-box, and the car needs to be fixed, and the cards recycled, and cat litter bought, and people are returning from their own winter holidays, expecting things to be done.

But I have been quietly busy, with little, inconsequential things. A scarf gifted late, a sock heel turned, a trunk of old mementoes sorted and packed and pushed under the bed, a room cleaned and cleared and filled up anew. And walks in the snow, before it is salted and gritted into grey city sludge. And my mind has gone dormant, under its own flim-flam comforter of snow. And thinking is beyond possible, plans for the next and the new are iced-asleep. But the snow will melt, because it always does, and I will quietly wait, being busy doing nothing, dreaming sweet melted away snowflake filled dreams.

adoration of the moggy

2005-12-24T10:24:00.000Z

In reality, adoration of the prime radiator spot in the house, but bad puns help me feel the xmas spirit.

To those who celebrate this time of year, in whatever shape or form, have a splendiferous time, all spangly and sparkly and special.

Love, susoolu.

goo-goo ga-ga

2005-12-16T16:01:00.000Z

bad photo of cute baby things,
aka EZ's BSJ and Anouk, pre-blocked
(well, they were cute in the pattern)

But I haven't got much time at the moment to try and take better pictures, for not only is it that time of the year, but a friend, in her infinite wisdom, brought her wedding forward to the week before that time of year (also, I think she didn't want her unexpected but much longed-for babies to be born b******s). (And I say, nothing wrong with being born a b******, as technically, I was. And I'm being mean and grumpy about it, and nobody is allowed to get married/have parties/have fun of any kind ever again, or at least for the next five years, if it involves me having to go shopping for something to wear.) So what with the shopping, and the shopping for something to wear, and the shopping, and the finishing of gifts, and the head-in-sand attitude towards all things seasonal, and the stress and the... Again, you know how all this goes.

But seriously dudes, baby clothes. So unbelievably cute, makes me almost want one of my own. (By the way, asking people 'how large is a baby's neck?' results in some quite strange and possibly slightly disturbing gestures.) And quick to knit. Ultimate gratification, brownie points for using stash, and all official gift knitting finished.

Things I have learned - Anouk

Anouk is clever, french-baby chic, just right for a Continental European baby. But I'll say it again, and maybe I will remember this time, that cotton is a pain for showing errors, no matter how cheery the colours. However, I have decided that those odd little tension kicks - when a stitch just doesn't sit quite right, when it is a little loose, or a little tight - are not my fault. They are the fault of all the people/cats/telephones/cats/doorbells who interrupt me mid-row.

If I made it again, I might adjust the shaping at the bottom, as the moss/seed stitch border does tend to pull in a little.

For a really quick knit, you could leave off the pockets altogether, or knit them plain. To avoid sewing pockets on, you could always experiment with making a double knit pouch (which one day I might just do).

I cannot sew. I cannot even do a simple duplicate stitch, with instructions in front of me, and make it look even half-way acceptable. Anything that expects me to sew is doomed from the start.

Things I have learned - Elizabeth Zimmermann's Baby Surprise Jacket

Thank you, thank you, thank you - to all the bloggers I have discovered in recent months who kept mentioning EZ, which finally prompted me to go and have a look and see what all the fuss was about. She is so much fun, and I firmly believe in a woman who roamed far and wide in her attempt to eradicate seams. And the BSJ is such a hoot to make.

What else? Well, you can make 'interesting' seams if you attack them with a crochet hook, and make it up as you go along. Anyway, it's for a baby, so no-one will be looking at the seams.

Jamieson & Smith (ah, how do I love thee, let me count the ways, my passion for J&S is running out of control at the moment) smells ever so faintly of the farmyard when wet, of small baby lambs and mucking out stables and unpasturised milk, healthy and fertile and fun (a nice organic farmyard, not one of your battery places, no thank you). Which is a good thing if you dreamed of having your own pony when you were a little girl, and would spend hours starting at ungodly hours in the morning working as slave labour just so you could be near a horse. But standing at the kitchen sink inhaling wet wool and dreaming of My Friend Flicka does not get the cat hair out or the blocking done. And the mother of the baby did have a pony when young (hiss, hiss, spit, spit, gently turning green), so faint farmyards won't faze her at all.

Now I'm off to stand over wet wool, and day-dream. And pretend I don't have to sew on 8 buttons.

buckets

2005-12-06T23:40:00.000Z

bucket hat

There is something about short and cold days that makes me come over all traditional. Hot one pot stews, hot chocolates, hot water bottles, hot toddies, and having hot hands and heads. So I suppose it is lucky that I bought out the Jamieson & Smith stand at the Harrogate show the other week, as shetland spun, for me, falls oh so neatly into the traditional category.

Above is my second attempt at a new winter hat. Inspired by Elizabeth Zimmermann's pillbox, and using a Barbara G. Walker mosaic pattern, I have managed to make a hat which is almost perfect, if just ever so slightly too big. (Seeing as the first hat was too small, I'm feeling just a little bit Goldilockish.)

Jamieson & Smith 2 ply soft spun.
Size 4mm needles (but they could have been 4.5mm, my note taking is non-existent).
Provisional crochet chain cast on (my new favourite) - finished off with a couple of crochet rounds to stop the bottom from curling.
Odd mods 1 - slipping stitches knitwise, which gives (I think) a little bit of interesting texture to the pattern.
Odd mods 2 - using a left-slanting decrease on the hat top, 'cos I think it looks pretty.

Things I have learnt.

Mosaic patterns seem to work really well in the round - and the colour jog isn't that noticeable.

Remembering that unless 'they' say otherwise, stitches are meant to be slipped purlwise. I like the slight textured effect slipping knitwise has given, but if I were to do it again, I would twist a couple of stitches in the non-patterned rows, in order to stop them pooching out.

Left-leaning decreases can look quite pretty, but when knitting in the round, they do pucker the fabric.

My head is too short for a 6 1/2 inch tall hat.

Paint pots do make very good head substitutes for blocking, but if you leave the handle on, the hat develops an interesting lump.

But the two best things? My head is warm, and a very cool friend (you know, the kind who does indie bands and vintage port, and doesn't laugh at you for not knowing music, and still invites you over to drink the port) said it was a cool hat. My head might have swelled just a touch, and now I have a perfectly fitting hat.

Thanks for all your kind comments on the stash haul - I am feeling considerably less guilty about it. Trouble is, now the yarn has been exposed, the list of projects is increasing exponentially. And then today the Habu kits arrived. Maybe I could teach the cats to knit?

err ... umm ...

2005-12-02T01:02:00.000Z

*photo by Puplet - whose camera has a seriously good flash

So, I went to Harrogate last week, with a recently brought over to the yarn-side friend (even though she prefers wire), to see what I could see at the Knitting and Stitching Show, and it seems that some yarn came home with me. I'm only mentioning this, because a certain other friend (yes, that would be you, Blueadt), who has been showing off her refined and restrained purchases, has been badgering me to name and shame my own haul. I think, on reflection, I may have been solely responsible for clearing out the Jamieson and Smith stand on the first day, and I'm pretty certain I got the one and only copy of Elizabeth Zimmermann's 'The Opinionated Knitter' to be had anywhere in the show.

Lorna's Laces lulled me into a state of reverie, and some how I bought so much, in Lion & Lamb and Shepherd Sock, that the stall holder gave me a whole, wait for it, *free pen* (whoo-hoo). And then, of course, having started on the whole it might be lace, it might be sock thang, there was the Cherry Tree Hill supersock vs Fyberspates laceweight mohair debate. Which, of course, my credit card lost.

For the almost finale (and, as it turns out, self and EZOK protection - disappointed knitters can be awful persistent with the whole 'are you sure you want that book?' stalking) some extra extra large needles and hook, from the lovely people at Wool'n'Boats. (I have been secretly lusting after these ever since Woolywormhead mentioned them.)

The actual finale is somewhere mid-Atlantic, but might just involve the word Habu.

Now, I could try and tell you about the show, but I don't know what else I could say apart from it was crowded, with many stalls, many beautiful textile displays, anemic coffee, bloggers to recognize (hello, Yvonne), and I didn't bring my camera. But it was my first really big show, and I'm still a little shell-shocked.

I'm also a little appalled at my avarice.

I was going to go off on one about how embarrassing I've found this display of conspicuous consumption, how I've been not quite hiding the haul, but still not bringing it all out to play, how I feel guilty that I was so self-indulgent, because even though most of the yarn is marked for presents, in reality it is all for me, to feed the pleasure I have found in rediscovering knitting.

But bringing it out tonight, I looked, and saw that it was good, that the second hat is nearly done, the shawl is started, the first hat has already found a new home, and I've reduced the storage crisis pressure (and reminded myself that a slight yarn fetish is a somewhat innocent pleasure - I could be out there clubbing seals, or playing traditional polkas to thrash metal fans), and I promise that I won't buy any more yarn until at least 2006.

feeling blue?

2005-11-23T14:46:00.000Z

then ...
knit yellow

I thought I would knit the clever little 'I'll grow with you' Anouk for a friend's daughter - and after a couple of false starts, I settled on Jaeger's aqua, in 'please, please no more pink, I'm in the 7th circle of candyfloss hell' colours. So it isn't finished, and cotton is an absolute quean for showing any boo-boos (see, practising baby language for when I meet Anouk's wearer-to-be), but I desperately wanted to try and take a photo of that yellow.

Because, up here, once the days get shorter, and official winter comes nearer, the sky seems to fall, and the world collapses to closed-in grey, highlighted only from below by wet decaying 'we really did try to reach glorious autumn-colour honestly' leaves. And life can feel a little flat. But the other day, with a spare afternoon, and side one of Anouk started on my lap, I felt a little strange. It wasn't the many coffees, or the unaccustomed quiet that comes when cats finally stop trying to kill each other and go to sleep, or even that I had captured a spare, stolen hour. It was a feeling of light, of once identified undeniably spring cheer and warm new hope, a feeling that came from having my hands dripping with daffodil gold.

Now I've heard of knitting as therapy, and I've read the stories of knitting through adversity, and I know I relish the sense of accomplishment when I get a pattern down pat. But I never expected that such a little yellow ball would unwind and loop into such a piece of anti-S.A.D. happiness. So I shall horde the remaining yellow yarn, and when it is all too grey, I shall bring it out to play.

It is enough to make me come over all Wordsworthian cloud. (Well, almost, for my heart belongs to a metaphysic sun.)

Happy Thanksgiving!

from the sublime to the ridiculous

2005-11-18T15:31:00.000Z

the divine miss l m

Lettice Maud has been here for a few weeks, but is only now feeling ready to 'go public'. Her journey to the north was somewhat traumatic, as she found the postal service just a little rough - some nasty, nasty man put a hole in her suitcase. Still, once unpacked, and unruffled, and after some Earl Grey (in bone china, thank you very much), she quickly realised no harm was done. She misses her flatmate, and their walks through the Hampshire countryside, looking for Mr Darcy and Mr Wentworth, but is coming to realise that exploring wuthering heaths could be quite an adventure. (I, however, think that if she actually met a Heathcliffe, she would, in a distinctly ladylike fashion, run a mile.)

Lettice Maud has enjoyed making new friends - the ladies at the nearest craft guild particularly appreciate her ways with a bakewell tart - though she has found the accent a little difficult to understand. And she was delighted to discover a fairly close Capability Brown garden. Feeling daring, she decided to venture outside today - but not again, until spring, as it was just too cold - and explore the local flora. Altogether, Lettice Maud feels she may indeed like the north (although her heart will forever belong to Jane, and Hampshire), but just for now, she wishes it were a little warmer.

(Absolutely none of the above will make sense if you don't run over and visit Yarnstorm - and I strongly recommend that you do.)

would you believe they are socks?

At a local craft fair (Lettice Maud wanted to go), I found these bizarre looking items. Made from handspun Jacob's fleece, I was told by the spinner/knitter that these are one size fits all socks. Made for World War (1? - I wasn't listening that carefully, too busy stroking the wool) soldiers, one is meant to try them on, identify the heel, and then darn for strength. A friend, who knows the maker, calls them 'banana socks'. They aren't pretty pretty, but they are practical, and in good function there is always an aesthetic beauty. They look simple to make - a few longish rows of garter stitch (for the length of the foot, and up the calf aways), then a few longish rows of stocking, with decreases thrown in, all done flat, and seamed up the top. (I would properly reverse engineer them, but I don't want to take them apart!) No sock wool, no tiny needles, no complicated heel flaps, kitchenering, or tricky shaping. And they make the best bed socks ever.

The lesson for today? It is fun making your own things (with the added bonus of feeling all clever about it), but sometimes, you can get far more pleasure from the work of others. So thank you Yarnstorm, and spinning lady whose name I have forgotten, for the pleasure I have found in Lettice Maud and the banana socks.

kitten's smitten

2005-11-15T17:49:00.000Z

What, would you have preferred knittin' a mitten for a kitten?

Regardless of bad wordplay, I have learnt from my first (finished) mitten attempt. And, obviously, I thought I would share.

A mitten is something to keep your hand warm. Alpaca is warm. Ergo, mittens made from Alpaca should be warm. But, as it turns out, that is still only a theory.

Mittens are traditionally made with itsy-bitsy sharp little pointy things, that some may think are getting close to toothpick size. 2.5mm (somewhere between a 1 and a 2, for you lot over there) seems just about sharp and pointy enough.

Stash Alpaca's ballband says to use 4mm (aka 6 - getting confused yet?). Tctch - who ever paid attention to the ballband.

Mittens are a quick knit. Estonian mittens, while very beautiful, are not.

Estonian braiding is lots of fun. Estonian braiding with two strands of too thick for the needle yarn is not.

As the temperature drops, and mitten-need moves from desirable to imperative, giving up on Estonian is NOT a sign of weakness. (After all, if you do ever want to knit Estonian, then your hands need to be not numb with cold.)

Some picking up/fixing of holes is unavoidable, even in mitten knitting (think thumb). Warm and fuzzy may hide some holes, but DOES NOT mean you can avoid picking up properly.

Doing a jogless join is great, but looks really silly if you change colour twice, and jogless only once.

Sharp and pointy needles are indeed very sharp and pointy. So sharp and pointy that they wear painful little chasms into fingertips.

Knitting through pain is possible, but sometimes a bandage and a single malt is better.

The second to last thing I learnt? I DO NOT HAVE THE HAND SIZE OF A SEVEN YEAR OLD, SO FOLLOWING THE INSTRUCTIONS FOR A SMALL CHILD'S MITTEN IS POINTLESS.

The last thing I learnt? Kittens like mittens.

Actually, I learnt some other things too. For example, if you try them on as you go, and they are too narrow, just making them longer doesn't fix the problem. And I learnt to remember to look in the winter drawer, and pull out the bought in Iceland Icelandic mittens.

The moral of the story is - make the wrong mittens, and make a cat happy.

something happened

2005-11-08T19:08:00.000Z

Nothing to worry about, nothing serious, just a re-shaping of my world.

You see, I used to watch a movie, and focus on the story, the acting, the editing, the special effects, oh you know, the usual stuff. And I would rewatch a movie, because it had a special little something. And sometimes a movie would make it into my collection, because you never know when you might want a whizz-bang blockbuster, a tearful documentary, or a rollicking comedy. Because I'm a firm believer in doing something again, if you enjoyed it the first time around (knitting, anyone?). And there is something comforting in the anticipation of the known.

So, feeling in a 'I want a bit of nothing too dramatic, but with subtle deep currents', and possibly feeling just a tad peckish, I thought the starkly beautiful Babette's Feast would fill the hole. (A word of warning - if you are a little squeamish about your food preparation, or if you don't eat the animals, then this may not be the film for you.) I've never read the original Karen Blixen/Isak Dinesen story, of life in an isolated late 19th century Jutland village relentlessly, but tenderly, colliding with the wider world, but I've always found the film entrancing, as it carries me to times past and times lost.

Previously, I've waited for the feast, the pay-off as it were, and let the opening acts wash over as they set the scene. But not any more. Because now the film (at least the first half) is all about knitting. Want to see shawls in their natural habitat? Here they are. Want to see no-nonsense matter-of-fact every-day dpn use? There they are, worked casually in a lap, or left for later use in a dpn(not)fruit bowl. And I watched, yarn and pattern and idea spotting. A simple lined mainly garter-stitch faroese-type shawl - with the dove-grey lining showing through the lace panel on the deep warm brown topcoat. Okay, hit the pause button, crawl up and press nose to screen, taking mental notes. Oooh, an open work stole - now is that knit, or crochet? And how thick is that yarn, being worked into socks, or are they mittens? And the feast? Still enticing, but tempered with just a hint of disappointment, as the knitted lace was left at home in favour of the bobbin kind.

Is this what happens? Does the yarn tangle down into your soul? Do you watch a movie for the handknits, rather than the actor? Do you cheer when Gromit whips out his needles? Nod in approval (and recognition) when Dumbledore mentions reading old knitting patterns? Is everything about the yarn? The pattern? The knit? So tell me, did Copernicus and Gallileo get it wrong, and just when did they make the sun out of wool?

On the actual I might actually have been using needles front. Well, although mother no. 1 might have said she didn't want anything in your traditional pastel baby colours, I don't think she meant she would be happy with something that looks like it came out of a diaper. So froggy went a courtin' there. And cold hands the other morning pushed mittens to the top of the list, but I went for Estonian, rather than finished, so I'm barely off the 'lets try that again' braid cuffs. Still, tonight I have the night off from the world, a bag of yarn at my feet, and ideas.

Happy knitting, to each and every one.

oh, good grief

2005-11-04T10:54:00.000Z

I am, I have to admit, a slovenly hedonist. I could show you pictures of a dishevelled house, just to make my point, but halloween has come and gone, and who needs to see an unswept floor. Instead, a picture of my new pretty-pretties, which I have been petting and petting and petting, because it makes me feel good, in a way that hoovering never does.

The other day I had to sit on a few trains, for a few hours. Being peculiarly efficient, I managed to drag myself to the train station early. (Well, no, I got there early because I had heard whispers that a certain store opposite the station had good - read expensive - yarn, AND a bargain bag of even better - read was once expensive and is now cheap - yarn.) A spat of innocent browsing, just the thing to pass the time.

My bag was already packed with goodies to help pass the time. A perfect opportunity to drag socks to their heels, I thought, and catch up on a Pink Martini or two. And yet, oh yet, someone, somehow, had packed a couple of unadorned needles, in useful sizes, and a pattern book, just in case. At first, I was good, and stuck to the money-off selection, where four little balls of jaeger baby merino 4ply came out to play. Soft, baby colours too. But then I remembered that mother no. 1 had specified an anything but baby colour item, so back they went. But surely mother no. 2, or even no. 3 would approve, so out they came again. Now, I could have stopped there, and escaped cheaply, and I swear I walked towards the cash-desk. So how did I find myself by the cashsoft? And how did I manage to pick up six? I think, in a trance, I might have burrowed ever so slightly into the stack. Six balls were stuck like burrs, cradling gently in my arms. I kindly suggested they wanted to return to their lot mates, but they explained it was cramped and crowded in there, and their little cashmere fibres were being crushed, and wouldn't some fresh air be good for them, and how they just always, always dreamt of growing up one day, and becoming a scarf, so they could twizzle in the coming winter winds. And being soft, and because they are soft, I might just have rescued them. But I am sure I explained that they would all have to wait quietly, in their plastic bags, until the socks were done.

And I was doing so well, as I moved towards the door. But the yarn asked so politely if it could see the pattern book (and might had made rude comments about having to spend the day in a plastic bag, and wasn't I evil, to have promised the open road, and then keep them locked up, unable to breathe), and there wasn't enough room for everything to go in one bag. And didn't the store just happen to have a hand-bag display by the door (so sue me, I went for the hand-bag door, and not the men's novelty cuff-link section door). And didn't a little dog shout out 'take me walkies'.

And what was meant to be a quick hit-and-run cheap shop turned into a totally self-indulgent over-the-top shop. And do you think the socks got a look in? Or did I spent an hour and a half fondling yarn and sniffing new leather?

Not to worry, though, I got my comeuppance the next day. (Although I prefer to think I was being prescient - and arranging rewards in advance.) For as little Fran has been discovering the house, she has stolen a voice. Each day Fran seems to develop a new little chirrup or quack or meow, while Sootie, who used to be the very vocal baby of the family and is now suffering the torments of being a middle-child, has lost her meow. There is nothing more pathetic than a cat who can barely croak. Particularly when piteously croaking in the cat-box on the way to the vet. And my payback? In the shape of cat claws left embedded in my hand when the injection when in. But the vet found my dripping blood funny, especially when he realised he wouldn't be rostered on when I take her back tomorrow for her second shot. Oh, the shame, to have a cat whose record comes up on screen with flashing warning signs. (And that little piece of sardine that was waiting in the fridge for her, when she got back from the torture-shop? Do you think she got that? Well of course she did.)

For my next post, after this oh good grief, what is she wittering on about session, I will be asking you 'how large is a baby these days?'. No, seriously, I have baby clothes to knit, and the wrong yarn, and a whole set of gauge issues, and I might just be winging it on a pattern or two, and children are lovely and all the rest, but I don't do babies, and I don't know if my knitting would fit a mini-munchkin or a geheffalump.