OK, people, you have until tomorrow lunchtime (UK time) to enter the luxuriously colourful Noro giveaway. Just thought I’d mention that, in case you haven’t cast your (knitted) hat into the ring, yet. The competition is open worldwide.
Anyway, settle y’self in a chair (yes, even the chair if you so wish) with your crochet/knitting, and let’s talk yarn. May I see what you’re making, please? And of course you can join us in the pub for out knitting group if you so wish. Our membership spans quite a range of ages:-
It’s been hot* around here for the past few weeks. The heat is relevant to this blog post in two ways.
First, the knitting. Being prone to feeling the cold (yes, in July), I’ve never understood folks’ insistence that certain types of project are not suitable for summer knitting/hooking. So right now, I’m knitting BIG WOOLLY CARDIGANS, because I’m fed up with shivering. Here’s my progress on ‘Trip To Town‘ in Drops’ Nepal (65% wool, plus 35% alpaca – just to taunt the Stoic Spouse who was once chased by a VERY aggrieved alpaca).
So far, so good. You may say, ‘It’s too hot to knit wool!’ to which I say, ‘Pass me my scarf, will you? I detect a chill in the air.’ (My ability to detect a chill is on a par with a sniffer dog’s ability to find cocaine.)
The other night, I took this cardigan-in-progress to the village pub. Now, I’m generally a staunch defender of drunken knitting. If you can still knit in a straight line (which of course you can, because… needles), then you’ll be fine. But the cardigan was at the sewing-up stage, which is maybe not quite so wine-friendly. By some miracle of luck that I’ll no doubt pay for later by witnessing pianos falling from the sky onto the heads of my ten favourite people, I managed to drunkenly sew the first sleeve in… the right way round, and into the correct hole. Wa-hey! And ditto the second sleeve. Win!
But I also needed to sew up the shoulder seams, ideally using a nice, tidy, near-invisible mattress stitch. Sober Me is medium-competent in mattress stitch, although I wouldn’t quite rate it amongst my 500 favourite ways of spending time. Sober Me can stitch neatly and discreetly, having no wish to draw attention to the fact that I didn’t magically create this garment in one piece out of unicorn hair by the gleaming light of the full moon. Drunken Me has other ideas. Drunken Me just wants to ensure that come the apocalypse, NOTHING IS GOING TO DESTROY THIS SEAM! NOTHING, I TELL YE! So… long, long, after the rest of the cardigan has succumbed to age/moths/nuclear-holocaust, these shoulder seams will remain standing.
Let’s just call it a design feature and move on, shall we?
The other thing that’s been happening in this weather-that-some-folk-would-describe-as-hot is that I’ve been running. A lot. It would seem that after half a lifetime of dedicated sport-avoidance, followed by several years of grumpily plodding along in running shoes, plus a half-marathon last year, I’ve finally achieved a running addiction.
I love the feeling of ‘See that hill over there? I think I’ll run to that, next.’ Last night, I lolloped across the Oxfordshire countryside, a pouch of water attached to my left wrist and a stash of jelly babies at my waist. I ran up to the top of the long and ancient Ridgeway, and stared out across the landscape. Well… that was my excuse for stopping, anyway.
I ran 9.3 hilly miles (that’s 15 equally hilly kilometres). Absolutely disastrously for this blog, nothing went wrong. I was gutted! How on earth am I supposed to make a decent anecdote out of ‘I had a good run’? (I didn’t even get lost, or fall out of a tree into a puddle.)
Fret-ye-not, for there’ll be opportunities a’plenty to laugh at my expense over the next few months, because I’m tantalisingly close to the top of the waiting list for a place in our local marathon. Eek! I have never run 26 miles before in my life. Just driving that distance leaves me a little tired. So it’s reasonably safe to assume that my path from here to the finish line in a few months’ time will not be entirely smooth.
But hey, I don’t need my legs for knitting, so it’s worth the risk. 🙂
∗Unless you’re reading from Arizona or Australia or Algeria, in which case you’d regard our peak temperatures as ‘pleasantly warm’.