lettuce and ladybirds

About this time last year, two interesting projects collided in my brain. First, Emily made a simple, but absolutely exquisite, brooch: a knitted leaf with a ladybird button stitched on. Then, when I heard Daina Taimina talking about hyperbolic geometry, she mentioned lettuce as a prime example of the supposedly "impossible" geometry that had been on mathematicians' plates all along...

And so the idea for "ladybirds on lettuce" was born. (And yes, it is just my basic sea anemone formula, what took the time was mixing a sufficiently lettuce-like dye!)




The buttons are by Injabulo, who supply fair trade imports from South Africa. I got mine in Norfolk Yarn in Norwich. The Cascade 220 that I dyed came from Wibbling Wools in Bury St Edmunds.

I've made them to sell (I can picture them filled with tiny, foil-wrapped Easter eggs), but may not be able to part with them (see previous note re Easter eggs). time will tell!

production line

I've been so entranced by my newly-dyed yarns that almost every spare minute of the last week has been devoted to crocheting. I'll show you the fruits of my labours soon.

But first, please excuse me whilst I shout, dance sing and giggle with excitement. for yes, it is almost time for me to Skip North again. I'm off to Howarth on Friday for another bout of yarn shopping and cake eating in the company of fellow yarnaholics. As much of our time will be spent in t'mills, I've been reading The Blackpool Highflyer, one of Andrew Martin's books featuring Jim Stringer, Railway Detective. This one is set in and around Halifax and features engines, mills, anarchists and ventriloquists.

Back to the pots. First of all,and I'm afraid it is rather blurred, this is the pot that used the two-tone grey yarn that I overdyed. The frill is done in the plain yarn:

Next, this week's crop before being thrown into the washing machine...

And a glimpse of them drying in the airing cupboard

Of all the yarns I dyed last week, my favourite is the one used for the pot front right. It reminds me of the colours of violets nestled in moss. And my favourite pot combines this yarn (for the base) with the robin's egg blue yarn. You can see it in the "before" picture, bottom left.

You might have spotted that (most unusually) I've done a couple of pots where I've used the same colour for sides and trim. I've got a special plan for these...watch this space!

marmite girtonoise

No, panic not, this is not a post about that yeasty spread that people either love or hate (though, for the record, I fall into the love camp).

Instead, this is where I reveal the fruits of last week's dyeing session. And what, you may well be asking, does that have to do with marmite?





Marmite happens to be the French for "cooking pot" and is an alternative name for my cauldron (aka steamer). I spent about 7 hours by the stove last Wednesday (during which time bad Mr Caught Knitting took great delight in telling assorted neighbours that "Rosie is dying, but don't worry, that's dyeing with a silent E"). In the end I produced 1.7kg of vividness.

It was deepest, darkest night when I put the last few skeins out on the line. You may also be able to spot the BIG mistake I made. Cascade comes in skeins, which is great, as they are ready to dye. But what I'd forgotten is that they are tied in only one place and, to survive all the saoking, painting, steaming etc, a skein really needs to be tied in at least 3 places. I've got some untangling fun ahead of me...

As ever, I seem to have ended up with far more green, turquoise, purple and pink-based colourways than intended and none of the dramatic reds I'd been intending to produce.
But I'm very happy with what I've got. I started crocheting with them yesterday and have produced 2 sea anemone pots (currently "cooking" in the washing machine. Here's the first one hot off the hook:

I love the plump felt that I get from Cascade 220).


Speaking of Cascade 220, on my latest trip to Wibbling Wools I was able to pick up some which was marled in 2 shades of grey and I used this, as well as the usual plain natural as a base.

I like the end result very much, though it isn't very obvious when crocheted up. (You'll have to take my word for this, as I've thrown the marled pot in the washer without snapping a "before" shot!)

I should have taken more care over this shot! The mottled grey yarn is on the right, the solid on the left.

Now I must go and sew brooch backs onto the latest batch of floral corsages. Or, to use another of Mr CK's dreadful puns: I'm off to Broochback Mounting...

Cases of mistaken identity and life turning full circle

As Mr Caught Knitting and I strolled through the grounds of King's College yesterday, I was rather surprised to see a tall, casually dressed young lady, with distinctive strawberry blonde tresses, walking out of a door. Surprised because I though it was Graham's daughter, who now lives in London. I thought maybe she was back in town to see her PhD supervisor, but he's at a different college. As we got closer I realised that my middle-aged eyesight had let me down again. This girl's hair was darker and curlier than Laura's. But once we'd passed the young woman in question, Graham nudged me in the ribs and whispered: "Did you see her? Did you see her?".

By this stage I was quite confused. Surely, if it had been Laura, father and daughter would have greeted each other? Of course not! It turns out that the person whom I'd mistaken for my stepdaughter was, in fact, supermodel (and Cambridge student) Lily Cole...

There was a further case of mistaken identity this afternoon, when I answered a lound knock at the door. There stood the window cleaner, who said "Oh, I didn't think it would be you, I was expecting your father." Again, I was somewhat confused, as Pa lives some 40 miles away. And then the penny dropped. Well, honestly, I know that Mr Caught Knitting is a good 19+ years older than me, but really! As Mr CK himself says, was the window cleaner trying to flatter me, or insult him? Hmm.


Meanwhile, on matters crafty, I'm suffering from major impatience. I hand-painted a large batch of yarn (17 x 100g skeins) on Wedenesday and they're still not dry. Having had a major run on my sea anemone pots (I've sold 14 in the last fortnight and the handpainted ones are currently outselling the ones in Twilleys Freedom Spirit) I'm eager to make more. I've also had one of those strange moments when you realise that something in your life has come round full circle. Last month I designed and crocheted a batch of berets, using Patons Shadow Tweed (which has some scrumptious colours). Last week I sold two of them via the local Country Market (the markets formerly known as WI Markets). Acouple of days later I had a vivid flashback to being 12 years old, in town, shopping with Dad. There on the Saturday Market Place was a new, and fascinating, stall full of homemade things. The lady on the stall explained that this was the "WI Market" and that they usually just had a stall on the Tuesday Market.I was utterly smitten and dug deep into my pocket money to buy myself some flapjack and a gorgeous crocheted beret!

Enough reminiscing, I'm off to work on a knitscape (I'll reveal more about those in a future post).

'twas the pigeons what done it!

Yay! After weeks of ever-decreasing internet availbility, coupled with an increasingly crackly 'phone line, I'm back in the blogosphere.

We finally had the line sorted out today. Apparently various vital wires had been corroded by pigeon droppings.

The internet connection is still a bit "on again - off again" in the evenings (I suspect this has to do with the broadband supplier) but, really, who'd have thought that pigeon poo could cause such havoc?

not so grey matter...

Well, the headline says "Scientist Knits Anatomically Correct Brain" but I hadn't realised that "grey matter" was so bright and beautiful!

roots and boots

Aha! Online research reveals that my weakness for shoes* is genetic: my great grandfather was a shoe salesman. I already knew that his son (my grandad, described in the 1911 census as a "pattern warper") and his father ("dyer") were in the (you've guessed it) wool/textiles industry. Rootling round online has been fun, but I'm glad that my grandfather had a middle name that marked him out: my first search for the family surname combined with the parish they lived in (Sheepridge) came up with nearly 300 possible people.

My Dad has already traced this side of the family quite a way back, but I did find something new. I'd not realised that the census recorded how many children a woman had given birth to, including those who'd subsequently died. I'd always though of grandad as one of three, but it seems that his mother had 5 children, 2 of whom had died by 1911.

* a note on my weakness for shoes: this is kept under control by the fact that I have very awkwardly-shaped feet. I buy, on average, two pairs of shoes/sandals/boots each year. I wear them out at a similar rate. But I don't like throwing them out (if you see me in my pink suede shoes, please don't look at the holes in my soles). Graham insists that I am "the Imelda Marcos of shoes" as I must have ooh, all of 12 pairs (including hiking boots, wellies, clogs and my one-and-only pair of heels) of which 4 pairs really should be thrown ouot.

thawing, de-frosting, soaking burning...

I'm busily multi-tasking today. As well as working on the Spring 2008 issue of SlipKnot, I'm trying to catch up with assorted domestic tasks.

Watching the thaw yesterday suddenly reminded us that our freezer needed defrosting. And how! It is only a tiny one (about 25% of the total fridge freezer) yet I found some pastry in there annoucning "use by May 2006". I only ever buy pastry for use at Christmas, so it must be at least 3 years since we last defrosted. Oops.

I'm also trying to soak labels off assorted bottle and jars. In some cases this is because I'd like to reuse the bottle (I especially adore deep blue glass) in others it is because I want the label (I'm smitten with the fox on Thatcher's Old Rascal cider). But the labels and bottles are refusing to part company. Has anyone got any handy hints?

Meantime, I'm also trying to cook lunch whilst blogging. So far I have
* turned on the wrong hotplate and burnt the left over bubble and squeak from breakfast
* turned on the correct ring, but forgotten about it, so the pan has boiled over.

Think I'd better go and keep an eye on the stove!

Swooning!

What a day! Not only did the first issue of The Knitter* (a seriously glossy new knitting mag) hit the shops this morning, but I've just heard that there'll be a UK-based crochet mag from March.

Be still, my beating heart!

* if you follow the link to The Knitter, you'll need to scroll down to 25 December.

Ode to Stagecoach

How do I hate thee?
Let me count the ways...

On second thoughts, that would take far too long. Suffice to say that introducing a new Sunday timetable (without bothering to tell your drivers, let alone your customers) is not helpful. And I got a taxi home after waiting 50 minutes in sub-zero temperatures this evening. Checked Google as soon as I got in and discovered the awful truth. If I'd stuck it out just 7 minutes longer I could have saved myself £9.60.

Thank goodness that I was wearing the wonderfully snug neckwarmer that I crocheted myself on new Year's Eve (pics will follow when I find my camera...)

where did 2008 go?!

New Year's Eve already?!! The last few weeks have vanished in a fog of germs, so here's to a happy and healthy 2009.

this evening's post should have been accompanied by a compilation of pictures of Graham's back (in Granchester, in Oxford, at Woolfest, in Safforn Walden, in London, in Norfolk) but Blogger ate my pictures again...

mid-December already???!!

Where has time gone? It certainly hasn't been spent on the TSKPs (Top Secret Knitting Projects): I had 6 items to complete and progress to date consists of 9 rows on the first one. Ooops. And I rather urgently need to get on with some jellyfish and anemones for the IFF's crochet reef in LA. Think the TSKPs will have to be handed over at Easter. (Note to self: do I really dare give IOU notes for Xmas?)

Ma's surprise party was a huge success and though I wasn't actually there, I was thrilled to find half a bottle of champagne waiting for me when I got home from work. Bookselling has been huge fun--I'll miss the job when the contract ends soon--and I'm now keeping my eyes out for new employ.

Must dash: I've got brooch backs to sew on ready for the market tomorrow and a top secret wet felting/sewing project to complete.

Busy...

Panicking, moi? Oh yes. Parents arriving in about 2.5 hours for weekend visit. Need to clean/tidy and catch up on laundry (but have realised that normal winter laundry drying place, viz spare room) is off limits as I'll be sleeping in there. also, need to make large batch of corsage brooches by about 4pm.

We're having a very small surprise party here tomorrow for Mum's 80th birthday. But I'll miss it as I'll be at work. I've bought all the savoury food (sis is seeing to drinks and sweet stuff) and have no idea when I'll prep the crudites without Ma cottoning on. Oh, I'll just have to rpetend that I've offerd to take a batch in to work, or something else equally implausible.

But it will be great to spend today with Ma and Daddy.

Must go housework calls. (A call I usually igonore, but one which is deafening me today!)

why, oh why, didn't I take my camera*?

To Bury St Edmunds today, as I simply had to go to Wibbling Wools to get some yarn for some TSKPs (Top Secret Knitting Projects). And, since Bury St Edmunds must surely have the highest gift shop:population ratio of anywhere on the planet, I also planned to succeed at Christmas Shopping. (NB, most of said shops are a touch too frou-frou for my liking but some of them are brilliant). None of this screamed "take the camera!" at me, so I didn't...

Mistake! Within seconds of leaving the bus, I heard the words "Red Hat Society", looked up and, sure enough, there was a sea of elderly ladies dressed in purple, with red hats.. They were moving towards a veritable landmass of similarly-dressed ladies. I remember being utterly stunned when I first saw them congregating in Cambridge earlier this year!

Red Hat ladies at Queen's College, Cambridge, Spring 2008


Oh well. Photo opportunity missed but, what the heck, on with the shopping. I began at the council-run Art Gallery, always a good bet for an interesting exhibition, as well as fabulous gifts and cards. I scored a direct hit (oh, yes), not only finding something that a gallery in Cambridge had promised (and failed) to find me, but also finding it for less money. Result!

Buoyed-up, I headed down the hill to Wibbling Wools, pausing only to be astonished by the enormous crowds of shoppers. Think December Saturdays in Oxford Street and you'll get the idea. Weird. Getting closer to Wibbling Wools, the crowds grew thicker and I could hear jazz over a PA system. Then I caught sight of stalls and carousels on Angel Hill. A Christmas Market, I'd found a Christmas Market. (If any of you have ever heard me squealing with excitement, do, please, insert relevant sound effects here).

But first, there were TSKPs (Top Secret Knitting Projects) to be attended to, though I did stop to look at the "genuine Victorian" Galloping Horses roundabout where I was rather amused to note horses with positively 20th/21st century names like "Kelly" and "Dionne-Lauren" as well as the more traditional "Elsie" and "Joan". I was very, very tempted to take a spin but then realised that it just wouldn't be the same when you've nobody to wave to as you whizz round. Resolve strenghtened, I entered Wibbling Wools and realised that, truly, I had found Paradise. Purchasing materials for the TSKPs was a positive delight.

Off, then, to view the Christmas Fair. It wasn't quite up to the standard of those I saw in Vienna last year; here the range of things on sale reminded me very much of the sort of stalls that you get at County Shows, etc, but many stallholders were in Victorian dress and, despite the cold drizzle, spirits were high. (I could see rather a lot of mulled wine being quaffed). There was a French market where, somehow, I resisted the many delicacies on offer. There were stalls in the Abbey Gardens and the jazz trio I'd heard earlier turned out to be playing in the Abbey Gateway. Back to Angel Hill and walking further along towards the Cathedral I found some craft stalls, where several purchases were effected. And then I saw the highlight: the "Living Nativity" near the entrance to the Cathedral Refectory. No more Victorian dress, here were kings and shepherds with sheep (real) and donkeys (real) leading us to a stable (recreated) populated with more donkeys (real) and llamas (real). It was breathtaking. Why, oh why, didn't I have my camera*?

After all this excitement I needed food and cider, so headed to the Mason's Arms (which Liz and I discovered a few months ago). Yum (and hic!). (Eavesdropping on the many Christmas Fair-goers I gathered that many of them had come by coach from all over East Anglia). After lunch, on to the the Corn Exchange for more Christmas stalls and a recital of carols--some in sign language-- from a local school.

Finally I thought I'd better go and pay Rendell's Yarns a visit. Oh dear. Regia 6-ply in Kaffe Fasset colours, calling out to be another TSKP (one I wasn't even planning). This purchase necessitated a return trip to Wibbling Wools (what a shame) for a set of Britanny 3.5mm dpns followed by a determined I-will-not-buy-anything-else march to the bus station.

The bus journey was long (70 minutes) and slow, but how I wish I'd had my camera. As we left Newmarket the sky was ablaze. No painting could have captured this sunset, though maybe some dichroic glass might have captured the scintillation.

All in all: a most productive trip.

* and why didn't I have my camera? The batteries are flat and Mrs Meanie (aka me) has been too mean to replace them. That'll learn me (as we Norfolkians say).

How (not) to Shop for the Festive Season

Today must be my least successful round of present buying ever. I headed off into town with vague ideas about what to get for whom. I walked through town rejecting each and every idea. And I failed to find any alternatives...

Back to the drawing board!

Banksy strikes again!

Banksy's knitting (though ungrammatical) grannies made me smile!

And it looks as though there could be rather a lot of knitted tags appearing in Cambridge soon, with the news that Magda Seyeg, aka knittaplease, will be hitting The Shop in the New Year.

Meantime, I leave you with a picture of (part) of the birthday cake my nieces made for my sister...you should have seen it when the candles were blazing!

hallucinating!

Thanks to everybody who sent such kind and thoughtful messages about poor old Jiminey; we miss her but at least we've got past the stage where every time the (new)boiler switches itself we think we can hear Jimbles coming in through the cat flap: the two sounds were so alike.

I've been rather busy since my last post: learning the ropes at my new job (I love it!); teaching modular knitting to a wonderful bunch of spinners, weavers and dyers; making more brooches and scarves for the Country Market stall (though my sales have ground to a halt, so I'm doubly relieved to have a "proper" job again, albeit just for a few weeks).

Now I've gone down with some lurgy or other. I took myself off to the spare room last night, in the hope that at least Graham would get a good night's sleep. Somewhere in the small hours I was woken by somebody talking to me. Nobody was there, but I heard thumps and bumps coming from the garage. I realised it must be burglars and (very bravely, I thought) locked the door that connects the garage to the hallway, then went upstairs to wake Graham and ask him to confront the burglars (note how limited my bravery reserves are). He felt my forehead, rolled his eyes and then, gamely, came downstairs with me, and we proceeeded to check not just the garage, but every possible hidey hole in the entire house. No burglars. We both headed back to our respective beds. An hour or so later: thump! I screamed. "Get out burglars, go away." (Why can I never find any swear words when they might be appropriate?) This time the "burglars" groaned and "they" turned out to be poor old Graham, in the kitchen making himself hot chocolate, as he (unlike me) had been unable to get back to sleep after the first batch of burglars. (OOps).

Back to sleep. Except now there was a motorbike crunching all over the gravel outside the front of our house. I opened the window of my room and croaked "go away", very crossly. But neither the man with the motorbike, nor the two men who were banging the garage door would go away. I'd had enough at this point, and thought I'd better call the police. Decided it didn't merit a 999 call, so went off to find the 'phone directory. To my horror, though, even though I'd gone to the study to fetch the thing, I was suddenly back in my bed. And then I'd realised that I'd woken up, this time had just been a nightmare: oh, the relief.

Next time I woke up was about 8am, so the burglars had obviously gone home. Today I just feel like a puppet that has had all its strings cut but at least yesterday's awful hot and cold, shivering and sweating has gone. I've cancelled all engagements for today and tomorrow, and am hoping to have a burglar-free night.

endings, beginnings...

Just back from a wonderful week in Devon (with my sister, brother-in-law, nieces and their dog). Looking forward eagerly to my birthday (tomorrow: I'm an All Souls Day girl, unlike my late grandmother, who was born on All Saints day) and to starting my new job (temporary,very few hours, low pay but it is in a bookshop: yay!)on Tuesday.

But, as another year turns, I came home to a rather forlorn household: Graham and Laura (his daughter) had to take our beloved Jiminey Cricket to the vet's this morning, and her spirit left this life at about 9.40am... She was 17.5 years old, quite an age for a cat, and will be sorely missed. She was a shy cat and the most gentle creature I've ever encountered (though Graham, too, is a very gentle soul). I'll never forget the first day I let her out of the house here in Girton, about 8 days after we moved here. She vanished for almost 12 hours and I got the nasty feeling that she wouldn't be coming back, that I'd have to 'phone Graham (in South Africa) and Laura (in Luton) to tell them that I'd lost their cat... then I heard the most extraordinary keening sound and little miss puus was there on the lawn, busily torturing a mouse. I knew then that she'd be happy in this new home, with her newly enlarged family which suddenly contained me, as well as those she knew and loved. Darling Jimbles (Minx, Little Miss, Snoof Cat, Squeaklepuss, Prooples, Jimbulatories, Squeaky Girl, Pumpkin): you'll be sorely missed.

With the reality slowly sinking in, I've just been to unpack my bags and, as I went to place my laundry in the washing machine I've discovered, to my horror, that the garage is underwater again! This time we know its not the washing machine. It might be that water has seeped in under the garage door as the rain has been lashing in that direction, rather than flooding the back garden, as it usually does (but flooding the garage to a depth of a quarter to half an inch, though? Hmm, am not convinced.) Poor Graham thought I was joking when I called out to him. Most of the things we store in there are up on raised platforms after the last flood. We're going to sleep on the problem. Now I must wash my hair, slathering on tons of conditioner: my poor sister has just 'phoned to say that she has just discovered that she has nits and I'm taking no chances.

Life, eh?

Quiet

Diving down: seeking shelter. Nothing to worry about, it happens from time-to-time and I always bounce back.

Bad

Bad, bad, bad me. Not only did I spend too much at Ally Pally (I got seduced by roving from finland and Kauni yarn from Denmark) I've just visited amazon and this and this have accidentally made their way through the checkout... (strange, that).

Off to Ally Pally again tomorrow but this time to look at the exhibitions and get people adding bits to the coral reef.

Stash shot will appear soon...