ho(a)rse flu?

Thanks for all your get well messages. Anne, does cider count as "lots of fluids"? (NB this is just wishful thinking on my part, current drug of choice is lemsip max).

Twice this morning (before voice totally vanished and I was forced to return home) I had people say "ooh, a spring cold, they're nasty they are, hard to get rid of". First time I just fumed silently but the second time I had a bright thought: "I imported these germs from South Africa, so it is an Autumn cold, not a Spring one!". Ha! But then my very dear colleague said "you haven't got South African horse 'flu have you? Mum was just telling me that there's a big outbreak of horse 'flu and its like bird 'flu." Am happy to relate that whilst I may be decidedly hoarse I didn't have anything to do with horses whilst away. I did get quite close to same tame zebras, though... (Perhaps I should also point out that I'm not aware of horse 'flu being transmitted to humans, although mosquitoes are the vector and I have some rather dazzling bites!)

More bizarrely still, twice within the last 24 hours I've had people telling me how pretty I look! This is unheard of. Clearly the lank, greasy hair/no make-up/red rimmed eyes and slightly fevered flush look is coming back into fashion. (Don't think anyone of my build could be called consumptive, but do feel that there's an echo of Victorian novels here). Or maybe it is because the last 3 weeks (holiday and bug) have forced me to rest?

Now I'm off to cough...
(ps post edited to add pic of tame zebras!)

suspended animation

Grr, have been felled by germs. Had to give up on work yesterday afternoon and have just escaped from bed for first time in 24 hours. It must be about 3 years since I last felt as grotty as this...

Will aim to upload pix on Tuesday now. Meantime Laura (Graham's daughter) has been working away on this computer all day as her laptop has died. She's planning to buy a reconditioned one tomorrow.

the travel socks are off...

Feeling more than a little tired after a 23+ hours in transit but just wanted to report that I'm back in the UK after 2 weeks meeting Graham's family and friends in South Africa. Amazing hospitality from so many people (we stayed with Denzil, Bobby, Jenny, Colin and Mary and enjoyed a memorable meal and drinking/old photograph viewing session with Aunt Earna). Spectacular scenery and wildlife (am intending to upload inadequate pix and info on Sunday). But most of all I want to thank Graham for tipping his friends off about my passions: crafts and wildlife. As a result of this David took us on a whirlwind tour of Durban's nature reserves with lunch at a craft gallery thrown in; Kay drove us through the Valley of 1000 hills and took me to the yarn shop in Hillcrest (have some lovely new yarn to report); Bill and Mary took us to Umgeni Valley (zebra, hartebeest, blasbok), and St John (who shared our trip to the Drakensberg mountains) made sure that we took in some fabulous shops/workshops on the way there and back (beads, embroidery). alert readers will notice that one of my top interests is missing; South African cider is, alas, underwhelming with only 2 brands widely available. Their flavour seemed to have more in common with lager than apples. So I enjoyed gin & tonic in the mountains!

Pics, links and info should start to appear here from Sunday onwards...

still here!

Sorry about silence on the blog front of late... am back on dial-up (so please excuse lack of links and pix) whilst trying to sort out some broadband "issues". Moreover I've been battling killer toothache and neck problems.

But I've been enjoying lots of good things, too: a favourite colour secret pal swap, SkipNorth (the infamous "knitting and shopping" retreat in Yorkshire) and several bottles of Old Rosie Scrumpy (courtesy of WyeSue my scrumpy enabler!)

The favourtie colour swap was huge fun. I was being spoiled by Holly in Auburn, who sent me the most gorgeous blue heron "railtrack" yarn in dark reds with highlights of grey/blue/purple plus patterns and --best of all-- a brooch knitted in mohair with tiny miniature knitting needles. But I was spoling someone far closer to home: Marianne lives in Cambridgeshire and I had a wonderful time finding treats for her. Better still, as well as a beautiful thank you card, she dropped in to see me on Saturday. What a fabulous surprise.

And as for SkipNorth...Woohoo. It was wonderful.. I set off with a very strict yarn budget and came home with 57p change fro, it. But most esciting of all, I now have a wonderful array of colourful crochet hooks which I discovered at Lee MIll (near Holmfirth) HQ of the Knitting & Crochet guild. Am itching to use these (and my lovely new yarns) but have realised that I need to knit up some sample garments for the patchwork knitting course I'm teaching for Crafty Events (in marlow, second w/end of May). So glad that I've only promised baby/child size ones.

Ouch! This is clearly enough typing for tonight. Hope to have Broadband re-established soon and will then be able to show pix of colourswap goodies, SkipNorth haul etc.

odi et amo

Well, when there's nothing interesting to blog about there's always poetry. Here is the extraordinary piece by Catullus known as "poem 85":

odi et amo. quare id faciam fortasse requiris.
nescio, sed fieri sentio, et excrucior.

"I love and I hate. How can that be, perhaps you ask. I do not know, but I feel it happening and I am in torment". At least, I think that's how it translates.

This poem really sums up how I feel at the moment, but not because of any romantic problems!

Never mind, at least I've been having fun hooking (a curly whirly in acid green, cyclamen and a riotuous multi-colour from 21st century yarns), there's a KTog tomorrow night and SkipNorth is less than a fortnight away. And, in a bid to unwind, I'm making a point of changing out of my suit as soon as I get home each night.

chop, chop...

Anyone remember that advert from the early 80s (might have been for British Telecom) that featured loads of paneguins and the following mantra repeated over and again:

chop chop busy busy work work bang bang, chop chop busy busy work work bang bang, chop chop busy busy work work bang bang...

Life's been feeling rather like that recently I'm afraid,and I don't suppose thta it would be of remote interest to anyone else, hence the lack of posts.

But things are looking up. There was a great KTog last Tuesday and on Sunday I went to Textiles in Focus, to take a turn on Liz's stall and to indulge in retail therapy with Gill (That naughty Silkwood sock yarn in Spangles told me that I needed it. Who was I to disagree?). And I've a day off today, most of which has been spent alternating between snoozing and knitting. And my lovely neighbour Rosie Jennings (reflexologist extraordinaire) celebrated her birthday yesterday, so we're off to our local for a celebration this evening.

Oh, and soon it will be SkipNorth: yay!

Secret Pals revealed

SP 10 has finished (well, officially at any rate, but a parcel I sent in early Jnauary still hasn't made it to the States). I've had tremendous fun spoiling Tracey and I've been well and truly spoiled by Shelly. Thanks to both of you!

Otherwise I've been working, working, sleeping, working ... so I can't wait for Tuesday's Ktog: Granta Bar, University Centre, Granta Place, off Mill Lane, 7-9pm

the joys of missing the bus...

Yay! Back again after some sort of blip in Tiscali's service. Have been itching to blog since Wednesday morning, when I missed the 7.40am bus (this is unheard of for me, but my sleep had been mightily disturbed by unearthly noises!). Even though (oh, the horror) my watch read 7.38 as I flew the house, I *convinced* myself I'd make it. (After all, the thing is rarely on time).

The stop was suspciously devoid of people when I got there, so I decided to read. But, as I pulled my novel from my bag, I was aware of swift movement in the field opposite. Two animals, long, low-down in the grass, rusty pelts, dark tips to their tails; chasing each other round and round and round. Yes, the night-time catawaulers: a pair of foxes a-courting. One soon loped off, but the other remained, obscured by a stand of tall grass (hope it wasn't dining on the resident barn owl!). When I got on the 8 o'clock bus I saw friends I'd not seem for ages (bonus!) and they soon spotted the fox, too.

NB. Eagle-eyed readers will note that there has been sweet FA in the way of knitting/crochet content of late. This, alas, reflects a dose of RSI caused by peeling price stickers off and the wretched post-viral Blahs. Boo!

crafty special/catch them young

here's a comment that's been left for me, and which needs to be spread far and wide.

"Thought you might like to know that The Guardian are doing a one off craft guide this Saturday Feb 3rd which includes features on (amongst other crafty stuff) knitting fever, best knitting on the web, how to knit basics, knitty gritty & tips for the needle novice. Well worth a look. Please pass it on! "

Now: how's this for a case of "catch' em young"? I've been a Guardian reader since before I could read; back in the early 60s my daddy used to sit me on his knee when he got home from work and read the leader column to me! Entertainingly, he didn't read the Guardian out of political conviction (he voted Tory in those days but later joined the SDP and is now a Lib Dem). No, it was because when he went up to Oxford he discovered that the Guardian was available at a special cheap rate for students. So, thanks to a special offer c1942 I'm reading the Guardian in 2007.

the joys of dusk

I love the liminal times of day: dawn and dusk, when the subtle tipping from darkness to light (or vice versa) occurs, often with colourful skies and the sound of birdsong. (I felt really thrown when I visited the Seychelles and night came down like a theatre curtain).

A day off work is a real treat for me at the moment, as it means that I get to enjoy the dusk. Today I've watched it from inside the house, as I was VERY GLAD to be inside after having locked myself out (the neighbour who has a spare key wasn't there, so I sat shivering on the door step for some time, then invited myself round to another neighbour, who cheered me up with camomile tea, and a spare key for the neighbour who has out key result!). Hooray for wonderful neighbours.

But last Tuesday, whilst en route to the KTog, I was at the local bus stop. The sky was glowing (that inimitable winter combination of grey with apricot pink highlights) and two swans flew over. It was magical. Fortunately the lengthening days mean that I'm now heading off to work at dawn, rather than in total darkness.

a glimpse into the future...

my sister overheard my nieces (aged 10 and 13) talking today. they were discussing a great aunt, who talks and talks to them about people whom they've never met and are never likely to. they get rather bored. then they fell to wondering what their children would think of me when I'm a great aunt. apparently, I'll be sitting in a rocking chair, knitting away furiously and not talking endlessly about dull things. sounds good to me!

flat

my get up and go has got up and gone (think it is a case of post viral fatigue syndrome, boo). happily, there's a KTog to look forward to on Tuesday evening (see the Knit Cambridge blog for details)

memories of the (faux) millennium

Happy New Year (yes, I'm about 5 hours early, but I plan to sleep the New year in, as I'll be at work tomorrow!)

Graham and I saw 2000 in at my shoe-box of a flat in Bar Hill (just outside Cambridge. New Year's Eve isn't the easiest of times for Graham, as Nola (Laura's mother) died on 1 January (about 14 years ago, now). Also, being the pedants that we are, we insist that the 21st-century started on 1 January 2001. And then I found a wonderful book: Time's Tidings, edited by Carol Ann Duffy. This is Duffy's selection of 50 contemporary poems, 25 by men, 25 by women, which touch on the subject of time; and it also contains one "old" poem selected by each of the selected contemporary poets.

I bought it so that Graham and I could while the evening away reading poetry to each other. And through it I discovered the work of Gillian Clarke, who is now my favourite poet. If you know my love of sea creatures (whether real, or crocheted), and fossils, and sculpture and hares, you'll understand why this poem spoke to me:

For Meic Watts, who sculpted the limestone hare.

The Stone Hare
Think of it waiting three hundred million years,
not a hare hiding in the last stand of wheat,
but a premonition of stone, a moonlit reef
where corals reach for the light through clear waters of warm Palaeozoic seas.
In its limbs lies the story of the earth,
the living ocean, then the slow birth
of limestone from the long trajectories
of starfish, feather stars, crinoids and crushed shells
that fill with calcite, harden, wait for the quarryman,
the timed explosion and the sculptor's hand.
Then the hare, its eye a planet, springs from the chisel
to stand in the grass, moonlight's muscle and bone,
the stems of sea lilies slowly turned to stone.

(I've lifted the poem from here)

I'll just add that after a peaceful evening reading poetry, and detonating a tiny bottle of champagne, we slept, then awoke to the most glorious January day: clear, not a cloud in the sky. We set out along the footpath to Dry Drayton churchyard,(where Graham spent a few quiet minutes remembering Nola), then walked on to Madingley. It was so warm that we had to peel our coats off, and we laughed to think of the many poor souls who were probably still sound asleep. the only other person we saw was a cyclist, and the only sound was a woodpecker drumming on the trunk of a tree in the grounds of Madingley Hall. As we returned to Dry Drayton the bell ringers were playing Beethoven's "Ode to Joy", so we were lured in to the Millennium service there. And on the way out I was embraced by the vicar!

And now: felting news! The "sack" shrank rather more than I expected but it is beautiful. Whilst I never make New year's resolutions, I do write lists of things I'd like to achieve in the coming year. Since about 1998 I've been writing "learn to crochet". In 2005 I finally picked up that art of granny squares (thanks to Jan Eaton's wonderful book on crochet blocks) and 2006 is the year that I've really gained confidence. Hmm, what shall I aim for in 2007?

Once again: Happy New year!

festive interlude

Well, there's nothing like working in a gift shop for making the festive season seem simultaneously never-ending (Christmas merchandise arrives in later summer) and over in the blink of an eye.

But what a wonderful day we had on 25 December! Blogger appears to be eating my pictures again (boo, third day in a row)so I'll have to paint with words. Christmas Eve found our tree looking more picturesque than ever, as Laura wraps all our parcels using scraps of silk and organza and ties them with ribbons and braids. And Graham and I had wrapped all our gifts in one of those wonderful packs of tissue paper that contains several shades of every colour under the rainbow. We were all thoroughly spolit by each other and by our family and friends. I don't think I've had this much fun unwrapping pressies since I was about 6! Highlights for me were some sumptuous yarn hand-dyed by Liz, a wonderful parcel of all sorts of knitterly goodies from my secret pal (I really must persevere with getting the photos to upload) and lots of crochet-inspired items (book, hooks, calendar) from Graham and Laura. Graham also got me England in Particular, and those who know me well won't be surprised to hear that opening the book for the very first time, completely at random, there was the entry on cider!

And speaking of cider, we come to the crowning glories, the wonderful feast that Laura cooked (featuring onion and champagne soup, followed by a pie of vegetables braised in a cider and cream sauce) and the present that was so exciting that we saved it until after lunch, just so that we could keep looking at it. To explain. A very large, brown box turned up at our house on 22 December. On 23 December my sister, brother-in-law and nieces arrived and (hidden away in the spare room) proceeded to remove something from the box, fill it with lots of mystery parcels, then seal it back into the box. Thus on 25 December we opened the box, to find a bright green wicker picnic hamper filled to overflowing with brightly-coloured parcels and topped off with one of those Alan Dart knitted gnomes, clucthing a home-made cracker. My younger niece, who knows how much I love knitted toys, and how little I love knitting them myself, purchased the gnome at her school bazaar)! When we finally opened the parcels we found wines (which were not only South African and Fairtrade, but organic, too), cider (which hasn't lasted long), Green & Blacks chocolate, very special grissini, home-made chutney, locally-gathered walnuts and a Lindt chocolate reindeer (I swear that this is a Lindt chocolate bunny in drag!).

What a rambling entry this is! But I'm trying to take my mind off the fact that I have an (almost) FO felting away in the washing machine at the moment. And not just any FO, oh no. For the first time in my life I have followed a crochet pattern. And so, tumbling and turning and spinning in the hotpoint we have a "deliberate shrinkage sack" from Not Your Mama's Crochet (one of my pressies from Graham) made from Kureyon using one of the Brittany crochet hooks G gave me. I didn't quite get gauge and I managed to seam one side right sides together and the other wrong sides (that's a design feature, ahem) but so far, so good. Right time to be brave: off to the machine to see if I still have a "sack" or just a mess of felted yarn!

Deep breaths...

uncannily accurate

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm You're probably in the final stages of a Ph.D. or otherwise finding a way to make your living out of reading. You are one of the literati. Other people's grammatical mistakes make you insane.
Dedicated Reader
Book Snob
Literate Good Citizen
Non-Reader
Fad Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

Cripes! How did they suss the PhD bit out? (Not that I've any intnetion of ever finishing the wretched thing). Thanks to Lyndsey-Jane for her link to this quiz.

wonders of winter

The sky took my breath away this morning: inky indigo shot through with reds and pinks. I vowed that when I got to the bus stop I'd stand with my back to the road, soaking up the beauty of the sky. Only then I turned and got fixated on the crescent moon, then finally I glanced across the road to the field opposite (a rather tatty bit of fallow ground) and blinked in disbelief. There was a barn owl flying low, quartering the field in search of delicacies (aka rodents). The wide expanse of sand-coloured wings and round white face were unmistakable. Got a full 5 minutes of watching in before the bus arrived. What a start to the day!

The journey home was fun, too, as not only was a friend from the village on the bus, but I also got to wave at Liz (take a look at her Molly Dancing Angel!), who was waiting for her bus home.

I'm still excited about the owl. I've heard them nearby recently but didn't expect to see one. (Having said that, I finally saw a green woodpecker on our driveway a fortnight ago, and had been hearing that ever since we moved in 4 years ago!)

Meantime, am being seriously confused by blogger, which keeps urging me to migrate to some new version, but then insists that I can't because my blog is too big...am baffled.

St Lucy's Day

Today is St Lucy's Day, giving me the excuse to post one of my very favourite poems: John Donne's Nocturnall Upon St Lucie's Day, composed before 1582 (and the Julian calendar reform) when 13 December was the longest day. It is a mourning poem, at once depressing yet beautiful. (Mind you, what first made me fall in love with St Lucy's Day was watching Blue Peter back in the 60s, when they showed footage of little Scandinavian girls celebrating St Lucy's Day as a festival of light, wearing crowns of greenery and candles, and it looks as if alan Dart, who designs knitted toys, was impressed, too, see his pattern for the latest edition of Simply Knitting!)

A NOCTURNALL UPON ST. LUCIE'S DAY,
BEING THE SHORTEST DAY.
by John Donne

'TIS the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucie's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ;
The world's whole sap is sunk ;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd ; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring ;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death - things which are not.

All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ;
I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two ; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else ; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

But I am by her death-which word wrongs her-
Of the first nothing the elixir grown ;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know ; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love ; all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

But I am none ; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night's festival.
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's and the day's deep midnight is.

Meanwhile, today is late night shopping night at work, so even though St Lucy's Day is no longer the solstice, and therefore the longest day of the year, it might just feel like it for me! At least I'm not working all day. Hope to finish my crocheted scarf for Ma and to get knitting a scarf for Dad (I've some Noro Silk Garden in surprisingly restrained shades of brown and grey which will be perfect).

oh wow

For all my obsession with sea creatures (real and crocheted) and slug genitalia, I've never really stopped to think about sea slugs, but now this pattern in the new Knitty has given me a new passion (like I've got time for passion!).

hooked

Before getting onto the main subject of this post,please, is there anyone out there who can tell me what possessed me to work in retail? Remind me that I *love* my job. Thank you! (Think the 60-hr weeks in the run-up to Giftmas are getting to me...)

Well, from crotchety to crochet. It is official, I'm addicted. Since E-J made me marvellous stitch markers (see my blog entry on 3 September!) which stop my work unravelling when in transit, I've discovered that it is easier to crochet on the bus each morning than it is to knit. Queue the maddest of curly whirly scarves, made using Rowan Tapestry (NB no rowan never did get back to me re the provenance of the soy content!) and my new Brittany crochet hook. Don't think I've had so much yarny fun for years. Edgar is no longer my true love! Even my lovely husband has been captivated by the shape of the scarf ("it looks like sea creatures") and he asked where I'd got the "magnificent" hook. As a result, this year's letter to Father Xmas (which resides on the fridge door), which initially said (unimaginatively) "Dear Santa, this year I'd like 36hrs/day" now has the following items added: Annie Modesitt's crochet pattern a day desk calendar, Not Your Mama's Crochet (Amy Swenson) and Brittany crochet hooks in an assortment of sizes. (er, does Father Xmas read blogs?)

Back to my hooking!

silliness

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