Also… knitting.

You know how you do nothing for *months* and then all of a sudden you have a couple of weeks’ holiday and find yourself catching up on lost opportunities?  Well, that.

I went to meet a friend, last week, in Warwick.  I haven’t seen her for a while, and she’s an avid knitter and knew I needed a good local yarn shop.  There’s nothing in the town I live in, but Warwick’s where my daughter lives and there’s a rather fabulous yarn shop, Warwick Wools, which she thought I might like…

I did.  She is wise!

I wasn’t going to buy any yarn, as I’d just spent a small fortune in The Quilter’s Den (you just have to forgive the tag line).  But I am powerless to resist the urge to plunge my hands into piles of yarn.  It’s so smooth, and soft, and warm, and tactile… I could just fill boxes with it, and never make anything and be perfectly happy opening the boxes and stroking the yarn… Just me?

Anyway, I bought some lovely chunky orange yarn, which will – any moment now, in fact – knit up another cable cushion cover.  Probably to go into my office, where I’m attempting some orange integration…  It’s ok.  I know what I mean! And as I went to the till to pay for it, my eye lit upon a pattern for welly toppers, printed on a postcard at the till. 

The pattern was free if you purchased the yarn, which turned out to be from a British designer (all the clues are there, really) called Erika Knight.  So I dutifully trotted back to the racks, and chose a skein of fur yarn in mulberry and a skein of chunky maxi yarn in artisan.

And that evening, I sat in bed with my needles clickety clacking, and made these (right). 

I have to confess, I wasn’t entirely sure what welly toppers are *for*, functionally speaking.  I thought they were just a frippery.  But I wore them, today, when out walking the dogs, and they were wonderfully, wonderfully warm.  They took just a couple of hours each to make up, and if I’d read the instructions correctly, there would’ve been enough yarn for two pairs.  But I didn’t, so there isn’t (the total length of the green ribby bit should’ve been 12cm, but I made the length of each topper 12″).  But there’s enough purple furry yarn for something else.  So I’ll have to think of something to do with it…
 

Welcome back!

So, it’s been positively Miss Havisham-like round here since February, hasn’t it??  In my (very slight) defence, I’ve started a new job since last time I posted here, and so crafty stuff has gone on the back burner, rather.

However, I’ve cheated.  This evening, I’ve written up 3 posts which have been bubbling for the last month or so.  I’ve back dated them, so it looks as though they were posted contemporaneously.

So, dust off a chair, make yourself comfortable.  You’ve some catching up to do!!

The Flip Side

Move over, rain…

You are my sun. Today, you are a watery, wintery luminescence. Weak and uncertain, you break briefly through the cloud and fog to bathe the ice encrusted puddles in your yellowy gladness before the dark overwhelms you, and frost reclaims the fields.

But soon, soon my darling you will blaze with Mediterranean glory, scintillating the rippling rhythms of the sea, which lap at your worship. The entire world will circle you, bedazzled. You will inspire acts of wild awe and absolute devotion.

So cast off the winter, belovely. The flip side of darkness is light. Your light.

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Another 100 Word challenge. The prompt this week was “the flip side”, and not being a pancake fan, I wanted to steer clear of that allusion!! But so much is changing around my little world at the moment: not only the season, but friends, work, at home…. So I got to thinking about how things are changing, and the flip side of now is next…

Ash Wednesday

I’ve had another go at the 100 word challenge for grownups… the prompt is, again, in bold. 

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By Wednesday, the house lay still.  Footsteps tracked across the grimy floor, and runnels of water left greasy trails down the smoke-stained walls. 
The far corner of the dining room was, incongruously, almost untouched.  The walls retained an echo of their original colour.  A charred, wet box exposed its contents.
She picked her way over, and pulled clear a photo album.  A single image fluttered free and settled in the ash on the floor.  She crouched to see: a small boy, blonde curls glowing in the sunshine; eyes screwed up against the light.  Posed against a hedge, in his school uniform.