“Welcome, newcomers….”

“…The tradition of Festivus begins with the airing of grievances.”

While Festivus technically falls on 23rd December and my nephew was born on 22nd, I think it’s close enough to warrant the quote. Plus it’s a great quote so shush.

I’ve finished my latest knitting project – a v-neck jumper for my nephew, either for Christmas or his birthday. Yes I know I’m five months early, what of it?

I started my Christmas knitting early because I don’t want to rush or stress closer to the time. I’m also one of those freaks who gets her Christmas shopping done super early as well. It makes sense, people! I urge you to follow suit!

Ahem, anyway…

I used a pattern by MillaMia from their Close Knit Gang book called Fredrik (Ravelry link here) and used MillaMia Merino in Putty Grey and Sirdar Snuggly DK in Berry.

The wools are really soft and drape nicely, and I think the colours complement each other well and generally look yummy.

I tried to embroider my nephew’s initials on the front to add a little extra special touch. It was a great idea in my head, but in practice I didn’t really know what to do and I think it looks a bit rubbish. I’ve decided to leave it on there for now. I can always revisit this later in the year and decide whether to keep, re-do, or cut out the embroidery.

Generally it was an easy and fun knit. It came together in about a week and I didn’t really get a chance to get sick of it. Picking up stitches for the neckband was a little tricky, trying to get the exact right number, and I think the decreases on the bottom on the V look a little funny, but I think I’m nit-picking.

I’m also not overly keen on how the arms are attached. I thought the raglan shaping was a bit off, but I’m such a new knitter I didn’t trust myself to deviate from the pattern. Kinda wish I had, but then there’s no telling how it would have turned out.

I chose the 24-36 month size as my nephew will be two in December, but this jumper is MASSIVE. Maybe I should save it for next year! I guess he’ll grow into it, I hear babies have a habit of growing…


*Quote from Seinfeld

“What I've started I must finish. I've gone too far to turn back…”

“…Regardless of what may happen, I have to go forward.”

I have finally done it. I have finally finished my Carnaby skirt.

It took over a month of knitting (including spells of not-knitting) but I am finally wearing my first knitted skirt.



I finished knitting the button hole band on Saturday evening, and it fitted nicely when lightly stretched. I then cast off and crocheted two lines of slip stitch along the waistband as instructed.

Now I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to get a crochet hook into black stitches surrounded by other black stitches in a dim light, but it’s an absolute delight. I wouldn’t say my stitches were tight at all, (but then I guess I don't have the loosest of tension) but long story short it took a lot of perseverance (and a lot of swearing) before my task was complete. And so I bound off, and swung the skirt around my hips and – it was far too small. The skirt no longer fit but had a gap of about 3 inches. So, after a little more swearing, I unpicked the crochet waist band I had painstakingly added, and ta-da! the skirt fit me again.

I immediately blocked it, getting it away from my sight, hoping it would dry quickly in the hot weather.

I didn’t get a chance to buy buttons until Monday so that evening I cautiously returned to my skirt which was dry as a bone and now smelt lovely. The wool felt softer and moved better, and it had stretched nicely (I didn’t want a mini-skirt after all). I then threw it around my hips to work out where the buttons should go.

Maybe you can see what’s coming next, I certainly didn’t.

It was far too big. Five or six inches too big. I almost lost it right there, right at the final hurdle.

I was set to just sew the buttons further in and have a huge overlap, but CB suggested I try crocheting again. I thought it was a very good suggestion but I didn’t want to do it because it was such a nightmare last time…

But he has been right about these things in the past and I didn’t want to be disappointed every time I wore my new skirt. So. Monday evening, I angrily re-crocheted the waist band of my skirt.

And it worked. It now fits quite nicely around my hips. I only did one line of slip stitch as it finally fit and I didn’t want to tinker with it anymore in case I ruined it, so I quickly sewed the buttons on the buttonband and threw it on.

I love it. I really feel as if I earned this skirt, but I do love it.

*Quote from Michael Ende

“It is a Yorkshire habit to say what you think with blunt frankness…”

 “…and old Ben Weatherstaff was a Yorkshire moor man.”

As we all know, the 1st August is Yorkshire Day.

What’s that? You didn’t know? Are you kidding me? How could you not know that? It’s a national event! That’s outrageous that you didn’t – huh? Oh, you ARE kidding! Of course you knew. Well don’t I feel silly! I did think it was odd you hadn’t heard of such a big and famous event.

I mean, I suppose there’s little point me talking about Yorkshire Day now, considering you know all about it, but I do have a bloglet to get out so please indulge me.

The Yorkshire Society was founded in 1980 to raise the profile of Yorkshire and regain pride that had been somewhat lost owing to the demise of the wool and coal industries. A Yorkshire Society Civic Procession was held in 1985 by the Mayor of Wakefield and since then there has been a Yorkshire Day event every year on 1 August.

The date alludes to the Battle of Minden, and also the anniversary of the emancipation of slaves in the British Empire in 1834, for which a Yorkshire MP, William Wilberforce, had campaigned.

Wikipedia tells us that Yorkshire day “… was celebrated in 1975, by the Yorkshire Ridings Society, initially in Beverley, as "a protest movement against the Local Government re-organisation of 1974".

The day was already celebrated by the Light Infantry, successors to the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, as Minden Day.”

This year Sheffield hosted it and I attended.

Here I am with my white rose in solidarity:

“I, being a resident of the West Riding of Yorkshire declare:

‘That Yorkshire is three Ridings and the City of York, with these Boundaries of 1142 years standing; That the address of all places in these Ridings is Yorkshire; That all persons born therein or resident therein and loyal to the Ridings are Yorkshiremen and women; That any person or corporate body which deliberately ignores or denies the aforementioned shall forfeit all claim to Yorkshire status.

‘These declarations made this Yorkshire Day 2017. God Save the Queen.”

I’ve only been in Yorkshire for a month or so, but I’m loving it so far and I have no plans to leave. The people are friendly, the lifestyle is laid back, food and drink is fantastic and not overpriced, and the landscape is beautiful.

My friend advised me to dine on roast whippet tonight in celebration. I think instead I will indulge in a few too many cups of the brown stuff…

*Quote from Frances Hodgson Burnett

“Solitude is fine..."

"...but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine.”

As you know I have recently taken up a new job and I’m still finding my feet. Now, there are some things you always remember about being a new person somewhere. Whether it’s a new social club, a new job, a new school or a new home, you never forget certain things...

You never forget feeling lost. Not knowing your way round the building. Being taken somewhere once and thinking it was a really simple route, but being completely unable to replicate the journey when left to your own devices.

You never forget the feeling of being slightly useless. Not knowing precisely your role, or where things are supposed to go, or where you’re supposed to be at any given moment, or if you’re supposed to be participating in a conversation (or whether that will be eavesdropping).

You never forget your first impressions of people. Who was friendly or seemed very knowledgeable, who seemed scary and imposing (even if you later realise your impressions were hilariously wrong).

One thing I had forgotten about being the new person was how incredibly lonely it can feel.

I’m used to knowing everyone I work with, I’m used to having lunch with people, having ongoing conversations via email or messenger. Suddenly I feel very isolated. There’s no one to have lunch with, very few anecdotes I can appreciate and refer to. Most conversations are someone asking me questions or telling me answers.

I know this is par for the course. I know it’s a matter of time. But as I sit at my desk, unsure of how busy everyone is, debating which area of work to try and research, I feel detached from the rest of my team. I feel odd. I have rough edges - that will be smoothed with time I know, but right now they are jarring with my surrounds.

That’s not to say my new colleagues are to blame. To say the least they are incredibly friendly, chatty, and inclusive. There’s just no escaping my "Newbie" status.

I think it’s a testament to just how unhappy I was in my old role that despite feeling lonely, I don’t miss my old job. I miss some of the people, sure, but I do not have a single shred of doubt that I made the right decision in leaving when I did. I guess the only regret I have is that the role became untenable at all, but that was something over which I had very little control...

It's odd feeling lonely. You know objectively that most people feel like this from time to time and some poor people feel like this often. But it never feels like that in the moment. It feels like you are the only person in a world of automatons, that everyone knows what they're doing and why they're doing it and you are the only one who doesn't. I've used a different quote to bookend this bloglet, but I am reminded of Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami: “Why do people have to be this lonely? What's the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?”



*Quote from Honoré de Balzac

“Time you enjoy wasting..."

"...is not wasted time.”

It’s been a little while since my last knitting post. This isn’t because I haven’t been knitting, it’s just that I haven’t got a finished object (FO) to show off. I only have a work in progress (WIP).

I’m about halfway through my Carnaby skirt in Cascade 220 (colour Jet) (link to the pattern is here):

I’m really enjoying the pattern and the wool, but as it needs to be large enough to go around my plump posterior it’s not the quickest of knits! Additionally I have this terrible habit of picking at my cuticles and the skin around my fingernails and the forefinger on my right hand is currently flayed to the knuckle:

As this is the finger that the wool gets wrapped around while knitting…

…I’m sure you can understand why I’m finding it too painful to knit for too long of an evening. I only have myself to blame though!

I’m obviously disappointed I’m not being more productive but, since I knit primarily because I enjoy knitting, I’m not going to beat myself up over it. If I cause myself pain while knitting Carnaby I will never think fondly of the finished skirt when I wear it.

I’m also disappointed with the number of books I’ve read so far this year. I wanted to read 52 books and graphic novels over the year, averaging one a week. This sounds ambitious but I have achieved it in previous years. Years before I started knitting...

I have a fast reading speed and, in PK (pre-knitting) years, I read a lot. I wasn’t living with CB and I spent my free time in the evenings reading (and smoking). I now spend my time working my way through TV series (most recently was American Gods season 1, RuPaul’s Drag Race season 9, and The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt season 3) or watching CB defend the world on the Playstation (currently Shadow of Mordor, I think) while knitting. (I have also given up the smoking.)

This has inevitably taken its toll on my reading time, which was essentially reduced to the hour I spent in total commuting to work each day. Now I’ve moved Oop North, I walk to work. So when do I read, Philly-Fans? In truth I haven’t cracked my book open in weeks. My reading total now we’re half-way through the year is static at 15. This is slightly misleading as 5 of those have been weighty tomes, but I doubt it will go much higher.

I know I shouldn’t feel disappointed. It’s just a meaningless challenge I set myself after all. I should spend my free time doing whatever I what to do at that time. I just can’t help it. There’s a little bookworm in my head constantly lamenting the sheer number of books I have yet to read, the number of literary adventures I’ve yet to go on, and the number of characters I will fall in love with (and will break my heart over when they inevitably die) and it’s hard to argue with him!


*Quote from Marthe Troly-Curtin

“When we don't know who to hate…”

“… we hate ourselves.” 

Urgh I hate packing. I fully, utterly and completely hate packing. 100%. Hate doing for a holiday (how am I supposed to know if I’ll actually wear that slinky dress when we go out for a meal or if I’ll just continue to wear the same pair of shorts I’ve been wearing all day?) and most definitely hate packing up to move to a new house. 

In previous moves it hasn’t been so bad. I’ve still hated it, don’t get me wrong, but as I’ve been in shared houses it’s only been one room to pack up, along with a box or two of kitchen and bathroom things. One room is not fun, but it’s manageable. For my recent move up north, however, CB and I faced the task of packing up our entire flat. I say again – urgh. 

What’s worse is we only had a one bedroom flat. What will it be like in future moves? What will it be like when we own actual furniture, not just a bookcase and table? We spent some time before the move sorting through and rationalising our stuff, and we still managed to fill a medium sized van to the brim. I’m not exaggerating:

What you can’t see there is my carefully wrapped boxes of glasses, labelled “fragile” and “very fragile” which CB decided to stack sideways and pile things on. Luckily only one glass was broken from his cavalier attitude to crockery – his nice beer glass we bought in Brugge. I did feel bad for him, but that is karma my friend. 

Apart from the actual packing (which is bad enough) I hate the laborious task of packing up the car/van, and even more than that do I hate the inevitable task of unloading said car/van. At least leaving London we could park right outside the flat, but upon arrival we had to unload the van underground, bring it across the car park, up a set of stairs, through three doors (two of which were auto-locking and two of which opened the ‘wrong’ way) into the lift then into the locked flat. It took about an hour to pack the van, and a good two hours to unpack. Honestly, I couldn’t sleep that first night as my biceps hurt so much. 

Luckily, I quite enjoy unpacking and I’m very good at organisation. CB had to go to work the next morning, but by the time he had come home at lunch I had pretty much unpacked and sorted everything. At the time of writing this we still have a few things to finesse (for instance the spare bedroom is a bit of a dumping ground, and the bookcase took a bit of a beating so the books are still packed up) but it is a perfectly livable flat, no worse than the average messy home. 

I know it was worth it. I know it was. But it was horrific. And as much as I want to own my own home and get off the renting-roundabout, I can’t bear the thought of moving everything back downstairs again let alone into another house! 


*Quote from Chuck Palahniuk

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart…”

“…I am, I am, I am.”

England experienced somewhat of a heat wave the other week and, lucky me, I was off work and on holiday with my family in Wiltshire, staying in Longleat Centre Parcs.

It was lovely.

It was so very hot that it was actually rather difficult to do much – which I personally regarded as an added benefit! CB and I don’t own bikes so we rented a couple, and went on a cycle ride all around the park most days. The ride took less than an hour (unless we parked up and explored some of the sites) but we would come back to the lodge absolutely dripping in sweat. Yum.

There were nine of us in the group in total, seven adults and two toddlers – my mother, my father, my sister and her daughter, my brother and my sister in law and their son. Oh, plus CB and yours truly. So, as you can imagine, there were few quiet moments, multiple ‘smelly nappy’ moments, and lots of silly family jokes.

It was particularly nice for me to spend some time with the niblings now they’re walking and chattering away. I don’t attract or keep their attention much when competing with their parents but, seeing how exhausted my brother and sisters were, I think I got the best of both worlds!

We enjoyed the ‘sub-tropical swimming paradise’ and all the flumes, had a couple of games of bowling - one of which I won! (What was that? Did I have the barriers up? Err…I don’t remember…….) and, after some baby handprints gave my sister the bug, we did some pottery painting which is a personal favourite activity of mine. My sister painted a fantastic mug for her partner (and, just between you and me, I was green with envy at how good she was and how nicely it turned out, as it was her first time pottery painting) CB painted a plate with a sort of aerial view of Tekapo in New Zealand which is our combined happy-place (blog entry here), and I painted a series of cartoon monsters on a bowl I intend to use for yarn.

This is CB’s plate:

And this is my yarn bowl:

 

 

It was the perfect way to unwind after my last week at work and to prepare for the big move up North before starting the new job. And it was the perfect way to spend some quality time with the fam. 

Soppy Philly.



*Quote from Sylvia Plath