Sitting down to write this post with knitting and wine beside me is the most normal thing that I’ve done for a while. I hate the word ‘normal’, along with the word ‘should’ – as my patients rapidly discover when I ban both abominations from their vocabularies. But whatever on earth normal is, these past few weeks have not been it.
(This whole year hasn’t been normal, of course, but you’ve doubtless noticed that. And if you haven’t, then I really don’t want to be the one to burst your bubble.)
So the cancer diagnosis happened, and then you far-too-compassionate lot poured out your encouragement and your solidarity and your wisdom and your kindness. And all of that warmed my cold old heart and made me smile and feel a little braver. Seriously, thank you.
I’ve been rushing to finish all the things that I won’t be able to do following surgery/treatment, such as catching up on work, mowing the lawn, going running a lot, turning the compost heap, swinging from the chandeliers (not really; this is an old cottage with low ceilings, so if we had a chandelier, it would bump against our knees), and chasing the twinnage round the garden 700 times, which is a lot less arduous than it sounds because our garden is woefully small.
At last, nearly everything is done, I’ve had my pre-op drive-through covid test, and the medical roller coaster has begun. Preparing to be ill is the oddest thing. I have cancer, yet I’m in rude – in both senses of the word – health. It’s the treatment that’ll make me ill.
Is it wrong that I’m seriously worried about the fact that I have nothing on my needles right now?!
You see, I’ve just finished a pair of socks, and with all the getting-ready-to-be-ill stuff that’s been going on, I haven’t planned or designed anything new to knit next. I need to work on further designs for the will-it-won’t-it-happen book, but I just haven’t had the chance to sit and think, what with all that working and chandelier-swinging. But do let me show you these socks that have kept me calm and occupied in a variety of hospital waiting rooms.
As always, despite insisting on the most complex colourwork for every other project I’ve ever knitted, my socks are the simplest, plainest vanilla of patterns. The yarn is a hand-dyed beauty by Burrow and Soar, in the colourway ‘Bonfire’. I’ve written before – five years ago! – about Burrow and Soar, because I love their yarn. Just for the record, I paid half-price on this occasion, so clearly my opinion has been corrupted and you cannot trust a word that I say.
Except that you can, because this yarn really is luscious. And I’d challenge anyone to have cold feet whilst wearing such fiery colours. Burrow and Soar ship internationally, so distance need be no barrier to cosy feet!
This sock and its twin have kept me gainfully occupied whilst I waited for all eleventy hundred hospital appointments that have landed in my diary lately. Several clinicians have commented on this yarny loveliness, and they’re not wrong.
And the best news is that the kind-hearted Fran, who runs Burrow and Soar, is feeling generous to readers of this blog, because that’s the sort of person she is. If you’d like a nice chunky 20% off any order over £30 (excluding Christmas sock clubs), then enter twistyarn at the checkout. And enjoy.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pack a bag (of yarn), ready for tomorrow’s surgery.
Happy yarnery, my fine, fibrous friends.