Monday, 23 February 2009

Free Wool!

Two friends of my mother live in Donegal, near Kilcarra, where a certain Donegal Tweed is produced. They know that I knit, and by some mysterious means they have presented me with a huge goody bag of factory offcuts. I couldn't believe it when my mother handed it over. It arrived in various enormous balls, many with more than one colour in them, so I unwrapped each one and wound them separately. Thank God I just got a second-hand ball winder, because even with that, it took a while. I'm stunned by all the great colours. There's enough of at least the red, and maybe something else, to make a whole jumper for me, and there's a selection of sizeable bits of all sorts of colours that can be combined. I feel some experimentation coming on. It's all the same weight, aranish.

There is some of it I have to admit I'll never knit, due to my well documented beige-o-phobia, so it's free to whoever wants it. I can bring it to Stitch n Bitch on Wednesday if anyone's interested. It's really nice stuff, with subtle little flecks, but it would have a better home with someone whose taste runs more to Mason-Dixon Knitting and less towards Coco the Clown. There's a full carrier bag of it, in a brownish khaki, a couple of shades of grey, cream and a wee totey bit of black. There are quite a lot of joins in it, as these are remnants, but they're easily joined with a spit splice since it's wool.

Any takers?

Sunday, 8 February 2009

A lost cause

I have a terrifyingly huge amount of work to do this week. Today was a chance to make a tiny dent in it, but cashmere intervened. I finished a scarf in my handspun cashmere the other day. I now recognise that this gave me a window in which to Step Away From the Knitting. I did not. I cast on a fingerless glove in the remaining yarn. I was on a Stitch n Bitch trip to the Grand Opera House to see the ballet Sleeping Beauty, and it felt wrong - wrong, I tells ye! - to let the event pass without knitting anything. With reckless disregard for swatching, I cast on what looked like enough stitches to get round my knuckles and started 3 by 3 rib. Today I found that it fit, which unheard-of miracle meant that I owed the glove gods a gusset and thumb. Which meant I would be able to relax and get on with my life if only I finished the decreases across the palm and got down to the simple cuff. I've now done that, with zero frogging, and it all fits. Trying it on to make sure it fits, though, makes the completion of the cuff and the repetition of the whole process EXTREMELY URGENT. The feeling of hands surrounded in this stuff makes my dream of the cashmere body stocking seem like something Obama should be funding massive research into, never mind climate change, global skintness and multiple wars. Fibrous stimulus. Mmmm.

I'm now alternately hyperventilating about the ridiculous number of difficult things I need to make myself do, and petting my own right hand, which immediately conquers both stress and willpower. No good will come of this.

Tuesday, 3 February 2009

Yarn of Maximum Pinkness

I try to avoid the classic knitblog cat shots. I know I live in a grotty attic with three resident felines and a spinning wheel. I prefer to allow the rest of the world to imagine otherwise. Pong, however, has other ideas, and he will not be denied. The merest whisper of a camera lens and he's out menacing the wool.

I resolve to work round him.

I give up.

I put the precious yarn in what I deludedly believe is a place of safety.

I think calm thoughts of Newcastle.