One of the things that I love about knitting and crochet is that if it doesn’t work, you can rip it all out and begin again, albeit whilst muttering some choice curses. Nothing is lost… other than fifteen hours of patient lacework, the chunk of hair that you pulled out in frustration, a smidgeon of your sanity, and most of a bottle of gin. But other than those little things, absolutely nothing is lost. Personally, that’s one of the reasons why I crochet/knit rather than sew.
(Since this post is all about what I’ve not been doing, I’m illustrating it with pictures of our family
procrastination outing down south to the beautiful New Forest yesterday.)
Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes. For the past year, I’ve been working on redesigning our garden (the real-life one this time, not the crochet one here). Thus far, this has mostly comprised digging up shrubs and small trees, and accumulating a collection of broken 19th century clay pipes abandoned by the top-hatted men who presumably ran this place when it was a brewery. (A few pipe fragments were photographed in this post, but I’ve found far more since.)
But I need to get on with the next stage: planting fruit trees whilst it’s still winter, planting bulbs, and building a small circular patio of antique reclaimed bricks. (The idea is to create a cobbly moss-covered little patio with a wrought-iron bench and an overhanging cherry tree. The cherry tree is important: I want to honour the cherry-growing heritage of this village.) My slight anxiety about all of this seems to be manifesting itself as Olympic-standard procrastination. Yet it’s not even as though the garden is very large.
So I’ve identified a chap who’s prepared to sell me some fine ol’ reclaimed Victorian bricks. I’ve worked out how much sand and gravel I need. I even know what a ‘tamper’ is. And yet this feels like a big job for someone whose entire knowledge of building techniques was acquired via Google.
I just need to get on with it, don’t I?
The problem is that it’s not like knitting/crochet. I can’t simply frog the patio if I bodge it up, can I?
Anyway, there’s also the taxing issue of how to transport all those lovely bricks from where they’re currently stored to our house. There has been complex
procrastination calculation of likely weight per brick multiplied by the total number, compared with the carrying weight of my car. I reckon it’s a borderline case if you add in the weight of me driving. So I’ve been secretly eyeing up my smallest friends and wondering whether I could persuade them to drive my car to Banbury…
Sigh. I just need to put down the knitting and get on with it, don’t I?