2 x 2 houndstooth check on 7.5 dpi heddle; the yarn is Herriot Heathers from The Sheep Shop - 100% baby alpaca and feels like it!
Showing posts with label NaBloPoMo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NaBloPoMo. Show all posts
Sunday, November 15, 2015
Interwoven
The scarf I finished on Friday night/Saturday morning while listening to the news from Paris on the radio. Destined for a Christmas present.
Saturday, November 14, 2015
Fun of the fair
To Festiwool at Hitchin. Given that I'd been up until after 3am listening to French radio, wandering around the house and ranting, I wasn't exactly the most awake I've ever been. But it was a lovely event, and good to meet some knitters and look at some beautiful things.
Here's the haul: Silk and baby camel from Travelknitter; Sokkosu O merino from Whimzy, which will become an ikat warp scarf, I hope; Nimbus (merino/silk/yak) from Sparkleduck in a colour Heather assured me would go well with the other two colours I have, and indeed does, beautifully. I picked up another couple of things but they were for gifts so not shown here...
Now off to dinner with friends in the village.
Here's the haul: Silk and baby camel from Travelknitter; Sokkosu O merino from Whimzy, which will become an ikat warp scarf, I hope; Nimbus (merino/silk/yak) from Sparkleduck in a colour Heather assured me would go well with the other two colours I have, and indeed does, beautifully. I picked up another couple of things but they were for gifts so not shown here...
Now off to dinner with friends in the village.
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Visitors
If you've watched/listened to the news today, it won't have escaped your notice that the Indian prime minister is in town. And if you tried to get through the Westminster area, you'd have been sent off in all sorts of odd directions; all roads closed all day. This surprised my colleague and me; we needed to get to the building in the middle to retrieve our visitor, the guy delivering a training course to our colleagues, and take him to lunch. There wasn't nearly as much fuss when the Chinese premier came last month. But it was so wonderful how quiet the whole area was without traffic.
I gather there were protesters up on Whitehall, but we couldn't get up that far; on the way back, we did see the small welcoming committee, with their lovely crocheted banner, chatting away to the police on a warm, sunny afternoon.
I gather there were protesters up on Whitehall, but we couldn't get up that far; on the way back, we did see the small welcoming committee, with their lovely crocheted banner, chatting away to the police on a warm, sunny afternoon.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Remembrance
There has been so much overshadowing kerfuffle about the Cenotaph observations this year. I used to work about 100 yards from the Cenotaph and have generally posted something here about Remembrance Day, but this year even showing a picture of the Cenotaph might contravene my draconian non-partisan employment clause!
On the way from my new building to my old building, I pass this: the monument to the Bali bombings.
There are 202 doves; people of 21 nationalities were killed; and it stands as a powerful memorial.
Very obviously, we need to remember people who voluntarily, or under duress in time of war, put themselves in harm's way to serve their country. We should remember their bravery, and terror, and the sacrifice they made willingly or unwillingly. And we should also remember the "collateral damage"; most obviously military families and the civilians who can't get out of the way.
I remember realising, with a shock, that three guys having a kickabout on my village green a couple of years ago were each playing with one prosthetic leg. I remember a friend visiting the village at about the same time having a similar experience in the queue in the shop one evening when she bent down to pick up her bag and realised half the legs under the shorts of the fit young men in front of her were made of high-tech metal.
There are also the MSF medical staff killed while volunteering their services to save lives in appalling circumstances; and the people drinking in Birmingham pubs or dancing in the nightclubs of Bali, totally unaware they were part of someone else's war.
There are no more World War I veterans, and the number of living World War II veterans is dwindling rapidly; but we need a space to acknowledge the chaos wars continue to wreak in so many lives.
On the way from my new building to my old building, I pass this: the monument to the Bali bombings.
There are 202 doves; people of 21 nationalities were killed; and it stands as a powerful memorial.
Very obviously, we need to remember people who voluntarily, or under duress in time of war, put themselves in harm's way to serve their country. We should remember their bravery, and terror, and the sacrifice they made willingly or unwillingly. And we should also remember the "collateral damage"; most obviously military families and the civilians who can't get out of the way.
I remember realising, with a shock, that three guys having a kickabout on my village green a couple of years ago were each playing with one prosthetic leg. I remember a friend visiting the village at about the same time having a similar experience in the queue in the shop one evening when she bent down to pick up her bag and realised half the legs under the shorts of the fit young men in front of her were made of high-tech metal.
There are also the MSF medical staff killed while volunteering their services to save lives in appalling circumstances; and the people drinking in Birmingham pubs or dancing in the nightclubs of Bali, totally unaware they were part of someone else's war.
There are no more World War I veterans, and the number of living World War II veterans is dwindling rapidly; but we need a space to acknowledge the chaos wars continue to wreak in so many lives.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Hand-built
I'm loving the Great Pottery Throw-Down on BBC2 at the moment. Particularly the appreciation that this stuff takes time.
The art teaching I had at school was universally a bit rubbish in terms of inclusiveness. It was technique-driven, and if you couldn't do the technique, you were left behind. And "left behind" was definitely the right phrase in one year, where we spent the entire year learning watercolour, with a teacher who wasn't qualified in art teaching, who insisted that left-handers still lay a wash in the right-handed way; which meant we four left-handed kids were utterly scuppered to begin with because you had to lay the wash and paint over it in a certain order. (It's illustrative that I remember there were four of us. One in seven. One in seven kids who may as well not have turned up that year. It's given me an appreciation of difference. But I'd rather have learnt to use watercolours.)
I've always made things, and combined colours. But the first time I actually did this formally was at a pottery class. I made something or other in the basement of the Student Union (I think?) at Cambridge, and then some pots during my MSc at Loughborough; I still have one or two bits and bobs from the Loughborough club, and I think a couple of bowls may still be around with my ex-husband.
And then in the late 90s I went to a class at Cottenham with Debbie Cain, who had a completely different attitude to pots; you hand-built (there were wheels, too, but not enough for everyone; and there were lots of things you could do by hand-building); and there was a certain satisfaction in hand-building pots. Everything took a long time compared to Great Pottery Throw-Down - you only had 2 hours a week, you had the time unwrapping and wetting-down your pot, you had to take the tools out of the box again and wonder which scraper you used last time, you probably only had about an hour a week to do stuff, you queued for the kiln - but after a couple of months, you got something.
I have this 24cm high x 10-14cm diameter vase. I use it for stocks in spring, and sunflowers and chrysanths in autumn.
To all extents and purposes, it's rubbish. I built it over three sessions, and you can see that. It's massively lumpy. There are bubbles and really-not-correct textures in the glaze, and I didn't understand what the pale glazes were for, or what they did. The top flares out and for some reason I've textured the internal surface of the flare.
And I love it; and I'm proud of it.
By all standards of pottery, it's rubbish. When I take it down off the top of the kitchen cupboard to put flower in it, I smile.
God bless whoever thought of Great Pottery ThrowDown, and all who sail...
The art teaching I had at school was universally a bit rubbish in terms of inclusiveness. It was technique-driven, and if you couldn't do the technique, you were left behind. And "left behind" was definitely the right phrase in one year, where we spent the entire year learning watercolour, with a teacher who wasn't qualified in art teaching, who insisted that left-handers still lay a wash in the right-handed way; which meant we four left-handed kids were utterly scuppered to begin with because you had to lay the wash and paint over it in a certain order. (It's illustrative that I remember there were four of us. One in seven. One in seven kids who may as well not have turned up that year. It's given me an appreciation of difference. But I'd rather have learnt to use watercolours.)
I've always made things, and combined colours. But the first time I actually did this formally was at a pottery class. I made something or other in the basement of the Student Union (I think?) at Cambridge, and then some pots during my MSc at Loughborough; I still have one or two bits and bobs from the Loughborough club, and I think a couple of bowls may still be around with my ex-husband.
And then in the late 90s I went to a class at Cottenham with Debbie Cain, who had a completely different attitude to pots; you hand-built (there were wheels, too, but not enough for everyone; and there were lots of things you could do by hand-building); and there was a certain satisfaction in hand-building pots. Everything took a long time compared to Great Pottery Throw-Down - you only had 2 hours a week, you had the time unwrapping and wetting-down your pot, you had to take the tools out of the box again and wonder which scraper you used last time, you probably only had about an hour a week to do stuff, you queued for the kiln - but after a couple of months, you got something.
I have this 24cm high x 10-14cm diameter vase. I use it for stocks in spring, and sunflowers and chrysanths in autumn.
To all extents and purposes, it's rubbish. I built it over three sessions, and you can see that. It's massively lumpy. There are bubbles and really-not-correct textures in the glaze, and I didn't understand what the pale glazes were for, or what they did. The top flares out and for some reason I've textured the internal surface of the flare.
And I love it; and I'm proud of it.
By all standards of pottery, it's rubbish. When I take it down off the top of the kitchen cupboard to put flower in it, I smile.
God bless whoever thought of Great Pottery ThrowDown, and all who sail...
Monday, November 09, 2015
A little touch of Harry in the night
Just spent the evening at an excellent performance of Henry V at the Barbican. Had the pleasure of the company of Nic AKA Yarns from the Plain.
Has to be said, I wasn't totally convinced by Alex Hassell's Henry during the first half - he was edgier, less authoritative than I'd seen the part played before - but he showed Henry as a man who'd grown out of his wild days but was still very much a work in progress, and it worked extremely well. The other absolutely stand-out performance was from Oliver Ford Davies as the Chorus, appearing in his cardi and cords to apologise for the inadequacy of the play.
If you can get tickets, go.
Has to be said, I wasn't totally convinced by Alex Hassell's Henry during the first half - he was edgier, less authoritative than I'd seen the part played before - but he showed Henry as a man who'd grown out of his wild days but was still very much a work in progress, and it worked extremely well. The other absolutely stand-out performance was from Oliver Ford Davies as the Chorus, appearing in his cardi and cords to apologise for the inadequacy of the play.
If you can get tickets, go.
Sunday, November 08, 2015
View from the bus stop
Sometimes it's easy to get blasé about working in central London. Recently, I've been doing a mystery knitalong which is shaping up very nicely
From left, the London Eye, the Elizabeth Tower/Big Ben; St Margaret's Church, Westminster Abbey, Church House and the Business, Innovation and Skills Department...
Not bad, really!
and as it's London-themed, I've been taking the odd photo here and there to get people into the mood. Last month, I was waiting for a bus to take me to book group, and realised that my new bus stop (we moved offices in August) isn't at all in a bad location.
From left, the London Eye, the Elizabeth Tower/Big Ben; St Margaret's Church, Westminster Abbey, Church House and the Business, Innovation and Skills Department...
Not bad, really!
Saturday, November 07, 2015
2015 books, #61-65
A spool of blue thread, by Anne Tyler. London: Vintage, 2015.
Abby Whitshank always starts the story of how she and her husband Red fell in love with It was a beautiful breezy yellow-and-green afternoon... This is the story of four generations of Whitshanks and a house; and, increasingly, family secrets. I've been very bad at keeping up with my book reviews, and it's over a month since I read this book, so some of the details of plot have escaped me; but I'd unhesitatingly recommend it!
The monogram murders: the new Hercule Poirot mystery, by Sophie Hannah. London: Harper, 2015.
This was fun. I didn't read it when it came out because it got dreadful reviews; but a colleague whose opinion I trust on these things had enjoyed it. In this case, three bodies have been found in a London hotel, in their separate rooms, each with a monogrammed cufflink in the mouth. Poirot and his sidekick on this occasion, a newly-promoted Scotland Yard inspector, investigate. This amused and irritated me in equal measure, as all Hercule Poirot stories do; Poirot is as ever infuriatingly condescending to Inspector Catchpool and still going for the "collecting everyone in the library" school of dénouement; Hannah has done a fine job here and I think the plot is possibly somewhat more interesting than many of Christie's...
The cycling anthology. Volume 1. Edited by Ellis Bacon and Lionel Birnie. London: Yellow Jersey Press, 2014 [originally Peleton Publishing, 2012].
A fine collection of essays of various lengths on professional cycling, written by some of the best journalists in the business; Particular favourites are David Millar reflecting on his impending retirement and his rides with friend Michael Barry around Girona; the story of the Orica-GreenEDGE team; Kenny Pryde with an unusual take on drugs in cycling; and two views of Bradley Wiggins from William Fotheringham and Jeremy Whittle. I'm very glad there are another five of these volumes to get through!
Personal, by Lee Child [audiobook]. Read by Jeff Harding. Whitley Bay: Soundings, 2014.
Someone has taken a pot-shot at the French president, and that someone is obviously an expert sniper. Reacher, not a bad sniper himself, is called in to shortlist the candidates; and then to hunt down a man he'd already put in jail once. This one takes Reacher to Paris and to London; Child is at his best when introducing Reacher and his companion to British life, as an ex-pat Brit, and this canters along at a fine pace. It's amazing that this series hasn't really flagged in 19 books.
Face of the devil, by N J Cooper [audiobook]. Read by Julia Franklin. Whitley Bay: Soundings, 2011.
Teenager Suzie is found dead near her uncle's boat on the Isle of Wight; Olly Matkin, a schizophrenic schoolmate, is found covered in Suzie's blood, claiming he's killed her to take the devil out of her. Psychologist Karen Taylor and DCI Charlie Trench investigate. Did Olly really kill Suzie, and if so, was he put up to it by someone else? This is excellent, and the Isle of Wight setting is really interesting too. Julia Franklin is a good reader, if not wildly exciting.
Abby Whitshank always starts the story of how she and her husband Red fell in love with It was a beautiful breezy yellow-and-green afternoon... This is the story of four generations of Whitshanks and a house; and, increasingly, family secrets. I've been very bad at keeping up with my book reviews, and it's over a month since I read this book, so some of the details of plot have escaped me; but I'd unhesitatingly recommend it!
The monogram murders: the new Hercule Poirot mystery, by Sophie Hannah. London: Harper, 2015.
This was fun. I didn't read it when it came out because it got dreadful reviews; but a colleague whose opinion I trust on these things had enjoyed it. In this case, three bodies have been found in a London hotel, in their separate rooms, each with a monogrammed cufflink in the mouth. Poirot and his sidekick on this occasion, a newly-promoted Scotland Yard inspector, investigate. This amused and irritated me in equal measure, as all Hercule Poirot stories do; Poirot is as ever infuriatingly condescending to Inspector Catchpool and still going for the "collecting everyone in the library" school of dénouement; Hannah has done a fine job here and I think the plot is possibly somewhat more interesting than many of Christie's...
The cycling anthology. Volume 1. Edited by Ellis Bacon and Lionel Birnie. London: Yellow Jersey Press, 2014 [originally Peleton Publishing, 2012].
A fine collection of essays of various lengths on professional cycling, written by some of the best journalists in the business; Particular favourites are David Millar reflecting on his impending retirement and his rides with friend Michael Barry around Girona; the story of the Orica-GreenEDGE team; Kenny Pryde with an unusual take on drugs in cycling; and two views of Bradley Wiggins from William Fotheringham and Jeremy Whittle. I'm very glad there are another five of these volumes to get through!
Personal, by Lee Child [audiobook]. Read by Jeff Harding. Whitley Bay: Soundings, 2014.
Someone has taken a pot-shot at the French president, and that someone is obviously an expert sniper. Reacher, not a bad sniper himself, is called in to shortlist the candidates; and then to hunt down a man he'd already put in jail once. This one takes Reacher to Paris and to London; Child is at his best when introducing Reacher and his companion to British life, as an ex-pat Brit, and this canters along at a fine pace. It's amazing that this series hasn't really flagged in 19 books.
Face of the devil, by N J Cooper [audiobook]. Read by Julia Franklin. Whitley Bay: Soundings, 2011.
Teenager Suzie is found dead near her uncle's boat on the Isle of Wight; Olly Matkin, a schizophrenic schoolmate, is found covered in Suzie's blood, claiming he's killed her to take the devil out of her. Psychologist Karen Taylor and DCI Charlie Trench investigate. Did Olly really kill Suzie, and if so, was he put up to it by someone else? This is excellent, and the Isle of Wight setting is really interesting too. Julia Franklin is a good reader, if not wildly exciting.
Friday, November 06, 2015
It's beginning to look a lot like...
.... no, it's OK. I'm not going to say it.
But preparation for the End of Year Holiday is underway at casa Greenside. This is part of last year's production
and although I only have one child to knit for this year, I still have something of a heap of things to make. Not least because I have gently introduced my brother to the Way of the Hand-knit Sock, via making them for his wife who has toasty feet while he complains about his cold toes. Bwahahaha.
So, Friday nights this month, to give me an incentive for weekend production, here are thevotes from the Latvian jury figures. I include a semi-niece's birthday, and caughtknitting's birthday in the Christmas figures, and this year there's a baby due near Christmas (You Know Who You Are, pregnant lady!) ...
Total items 15
Kitted up 11
Started 10
Cast off or equivalent 6
Blocked/otherwise finished and labelled 5
Already with recipient 2
Let's see where we are next week.
Now, although it's only 8:45pm and I've only been in for an hour, I'm off to bed with knitting, books and my phone/Bluetooth speaker as I've just been told there's a Charles Paris I've missed on Radio 4. Bill Nighy, mmm.
But preparation for the End of Year Holiday is underway at casa Greenside. This is part of last year's production
and although I only have one child to knit for this year, I still have something of a heap of things to make. Not least because I have gently introduced my brother to the Way of the Hand-knit Sock, via making them for his wife who has toasty feet while he complains about his cold toes. Bwahahaha.
So, Friday nights this month, to give me an incentive for weekend production, here are the
Total items 15
Kitted up 11
Started 10
Cast off or equivalent 6
Blocked/otherwise finished and labelled 5
Already with recipient 2
Let's see where we are next week.
Now, although it's only 8:45pm and I've only been in for an hour, I'm off to bed with knitting, books and my phone/Bluetooth speaker as I've just been told there's a Charles Paris I've missed on Radio 4. Bill Nighy, mmm.
Thursday, November 05, 2015
Penny for the Guy
As November 5 rolls round, I suppose the thing that always strikes me is the image of the supposed signatures of Guy Fawkes both before and after torture...
Wednesday, November 04, 2015
Confluence
Confluence (n)
: a place where two rivers or streams join to become one
: a situation in which two things come together or happen at the same time
Soundtrack for this post*
: a place where two rivers or streams join to become one
: a situation in which two things come together or happen at the same time
Soundtrack for this post*
These photos are from Lyon, taken on 17 September this year. Since I was last in Lyon in May 2013, they've completed a mad and beautiful thing right at the tip of the peninsula which divides the Saône from the Rhone just before they flow together and sweep down towards the Mediterranean. It's part social housing, part world-class museum, part industrial park; it's a grand projet in the modern French tradition, and in a way we somehow fail to manage. Here's the view to the South through the confluence, taken from the top of the amazing new museum I hope to blog about later in the month. I am short, so you'll have to believe me that the line of posts marks the final coalescence of two of France's great rivers.
And here's the view to the North; more modern development to the right, 19th century development to left; the mediaeval centre is out of sight on the other side of the presqu'île.
When you go to Lyon and you're out of the tourist areas (stopping off for a glass of something after the triumphant conquest of a yarn shop, say...), people ask you what brings you to their city. And when you say "I'm here on holiday" they do a double-take. Lyon spends a fortune advertising itself as a destination; it's France's second city; it has wonderful history... But then, you could say the same thing in the UK context about Birmingham, and maybe people would react the same way.
Go to Lyon. It's gorgeous. And there's a direct Eurostar on the way there (don't get me started about UK customs and immigration on the way back!)
*Renaud is actually singing about teaching his daughter about penny chews and sherbert lemons here, but it felt like the right accompaniment.
Tuesday, November 03, 2015
Coming and going
One of the many reasons I don't blog much any more is because I spend nearly 4 hours of each weekday commuting. And while I love trains in general, sometimes they exasperate me beyond bearing. But the two London stations I see most often are really beautiful these days.
Here's the clock tower of St Pancras, seen through the uncovered and refurbished windows of King's Cross. A decade ago, those windows were covered in netting, absolutely filthy and mostly broken. A decade before that, St Pancras was a dilapidated shell, saved by John Betjeman and other campaigners in the 60s but a shadow of its former glory. Now both are thriving, living stations, the centre of a new complex which includes Central St Martin's School of Art. When I hear people getting on the "all modern life is rubbish" tack, I think of the restoration and development of this area and smile.
Here's the clock tower of St Pancras, seen through the uncovered and refurbished windows of King's Cross. A decade ago, those windows were covered in netting, absolutely filthy and mostly broken. A decade before that, St Pancras was a dilapidated shell, saved by John Betjeman and other campaigners in the 60s but a shadow of its former glory. Now both are thriving, living stations, the centre of a new complex which includes Central St Martin's School of Art. When I hear people getting on the "all modern life is rubbish" tack, I think of the restoration and development of this area and smile.
Monday, November 02, 2015
Vacillated
It's not very often that I knit something for myself - something that isn't a sweater, anyway. Usually, I'm knitting things to give away or as samples for classes these days. This Vacillate pattern, though, was something I saw and instantly wanted; and while I was trying to choose yarn, the Lava quarter from The Golden Skein arrived.
The red yarn in this skein is dyed by Travelknitter, the grey by Sparkleduck. Both are dyers I love, and both had a high silk content (Travelknitter's Tanami silk and baby camel, Sparkleduck's Pulsar silk and BFL). This was done as a knitalong (KAL) in the designer's group on Ravelry, and the deadline for posting photos was October 31. As ever, I only just made it!
I think this one's going to get a lot of wear this winter. The pattern is great - a simple chevron for most of the rows, with a bit of slip-stitching along the way - and it feels very Art Deco.
Sunday, November 01, 2015
It's that month again; let's have another go...
So, I'm trying this thing again.
This time round, I'm going to try to make things easier on myself by saying I'll just post a photo with a bit of a caption, and then if I get anything else written, that'll be great. But I'm aware that this blog has been all-but-moribund for a couple of years, other than book reviews (and thanks to everyone who has commented on those!), so anything's better than nothing, maybe?
My favourite photo of this year so far is one I took with my phone on the way to the university library one Saturday morning in July. I cut through my old college (Clare), and there was due to be a wedding in the gardens that day, so the beautiful new(ish) gate to the garden was closed. I loved the threefold reflection of the chairs through the lens in the gate, and the colours seemed so quintessentially English. All the very best to the couple who were married on that day.
Monday, November 03, 2014
NaBloPoMo day 3: Festiwool 2
So, Festiwool was lovely. An earlyish start, but Hitchin's only about an hour away even with a train change; friend Fran and I from the village met Rosie and Jackie, and managed to dodge the absolutely epic puddles on the short walk between the station and West Herts College. Once we got there, it was pretty clear where to go:
And yes, those are little bits of cycle-bunting on the railings - there was quite a lot more in evidence too; but there's more about that later this month.
The event was opened by Baldock's only supermodel (I suspect) Daphne Selfe. Ms Selfe is 85, but still impossibly elegant. You probably don't even need me to tell you that she's the one in the pea-green dress. I absolutely loved the nonchalance of her carrying her folding walking-stick in the pocket. We didn't see her doing the opening bit, but this was later just after the fashion show.
And this is possibly an even worse photo, overcropped and so on; but look at those cheekbones. Wonder if Kate Moss will still be strutting her stuff in 45 years time?
The halls filled up later - this photo was taken about 15 minutes after the doors opened - but the layout was such that you could always see things. There was a bit of a crush around the button stall, but that's the nature of button stalls...
Heather and Michael from Sparkleduck had a little bit of a chance to catch up with a friend...
And there was a knitted village, which I'd have missed but was situated next to the main ground-floor loos... Amazing detail.
There was fun-fur thatch, which really worked; and let's have a closer look at that Methodist chapel...
And because no festival account is complete without The Haul, here are pics (minus the two or three things I bought for gifts)
Buttons from Textile Garden (TG also have excellent mail order, but nothing beats being able to weigh buttons in your hand and work out whether they're substantial enough for your project). Metal ones for the NaKniSweMo cardi (the sleeve progress can be seen under the buttons), coconut-shell-that-look-like-leather ones for something To Be Decided. Maybe a felted bag.
Yarrrrnnnn. Left to right - Lang Mille Colori from Debonnaire, two skeins of Sparkleduck (grey is Pulsar in Town Mouse; sunsetty one is Galaxy in Darklands), a skein of Travelknitter high-twist merino in a colour called Dabbling Duck and a skein of DK from the bargain bin at Rosie's Moments. (And now I'm kicking myself - Travelknitter is Larissa, who I've talked to on Ravelry several times... gah.)
And my present to myself - even prettier in real life than they were on Wendy Fowler's website, and even better matched to my house...
All told - lovely day. The venue was brand-new, and there were stalls on two levels. There were loads of loos, and while I mistimed the food thing, there were lots of drinks and snacks available and I'd brought food having had the whole first-day-of-Yarndale experience. I really hope it's been an equally good experience for the suppliers and organisers, and that it's run again next year, perfectly timed for Christmas-gift-knitting buying.
And yes, those are little bits of cycle-bunting on the railings - there was quite a lot more in evidence too; but there's more about that later this month.
The event was opened by Baldock's only supermodel (I suspect) Daphne Selfe. Ms Selfe is 85, but still impossibly elegant. You probably don't even need me to tell you that she's the one in the pea-green dress. I absolutely loved the nonchalance of her carrying her folding walking-stick in the pocket. We didn't see her doing the opening bit, but this was later just after the fashion show.
And this is possibly an even worse photo, overcropped and so on; but look at those cheekbones. Wonder if Kate Moss will still be strutting her stuff in 45 years time?
The halls filled up later - this photo was taken about 15 minutes after the doors opened - but the layout was such that you could always see things. There was a bit of a crush around the button stall, but that's the nature of button stalls...
Heather and Michael from Sparkleduck had a little bit of a chance to catch up with a friend...
And there was a knitted village, which I'd have missed but was situated next to the main ground-floor loos... Amazing detail.
There was fun-fur thatch, which really worked; and let's have a closer look at that Methodist chapel...
And because no festival account is complete without The Haul, here are pics (minus the two or three things I bought for gifts)
Buttons from Textile Garden (TG also have excellent mail order, but nothing beats being able to weigh buttons in your hand and work out whether they're substantial enough for your project). Metal ones for the NaKniSweMo cardi (the sleeve progress can be seen under the buttons), coconut-shell-that-look-like-leather ones for something To Be Decided. Maybe a felted bag.
Yarrrrnnnn. Left to right - Lang Mille Colori from Debonnaire, two skeins of Sparkleduck (grey is Pulsar in Town Mouse; sunsetty one is Galaxy in Darklands), a skein of Travelknitter high-twist merino in a colour called Dabbling Duck and a skein of DK from the bargain bin at Rosie's Moments. (And now I'm kicking myself - Travelknitter is Larissa, who I've talked to on Ravelry several times... gah.)
And my present to myself - even prettier in real life than they were on Wendy Fowler's website, and even better matched to my house...
All told - lovely day. The venue was brand-new, and there were stalls on two levels. There were loads of loos, and while I mistimed the food thing, there were lots of drinks and snacks available and I'd brought food having had the whole first-day-of-Yarndale experience. I really hope it's been an equally good experience for the suppliers and organisers, and that it's run again next year, perfectly timed for Christmas-gift-knitting buying.
Saturday, November 01, 2014
NaBloPoMo day 1: Statement of intent
The more observant, or frankly the not-dead, may have noticed that the name of this blog is a Trades Descriptions error in 2014. It's not been a great year; and I've been on social media a lot more than previously, possibly because being cheerful in 140 characters is easier...
But the clocks have gone back, and it's dark outside, and I need something to boot me into regular action... So I've signed up for this again
But the clocks have gone back, and it's dark outside, and I need something to boot me into regular action... So I've signed up for this again
Let's see what happens. It won't all be knitting - I'm hoping to remember some of the good things this year, most of which have some sort of fibre content - but I'm hoping there'll be a bit more of a textile thing going than there has been...
I've signed up for a couple of other things in November, too - for the first time, I'm going for NaKniSweMo - which is the equivalent of the National Novel-Writing Month which has been going for years. For the knitty version, I need to knit a sweater of more than 50,000 stitches in the month of November. Unlike the writing version - strapline The world needs your novel - nobody needs this sweater, or in fact cardigan, apart from me; but I could really do with a cardi for when autumn finally sorts itself out, and express-knitting one seems like a good idea. I already had the yarn for Burrard, bought from the lovely Aimée at Harbour Yarns when I was up there in August, so that was the one; it's neutral enough in colour that it'll wear with a lot of things. The yarn is softish but still definitely wool, and it's amazingly sheepy smelling, for a machine-washable wool/nylon blend (Aire Valley DK from West Yorkshire Spinners).
Here's Day 1's progress; 7,600 stitches; which doesn't actually get me much more than a third of the way to the armpits, so I'm going to have no problem hitting the 50,000 but may still not finish the sweater!
I'm envying slim and elfin people on the Ravelry group who are wondering whether to add long sleeves or collars to get the stitch count!
Tomorrow, I'm intending to get to my first Fibre Festival of 2014, Festiwool in Hitchin. I'll report back; not least on whether I see anyone knitting the way illustrated in the bottom right-hand photo in that link!
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Four!
I'm not sure the Christmas list needs revising here: the Mad Plaid might turn into a Christmas present, or it might not. I am so nearly in a position to cast off this Christmas's major project... just not quite yet...
It's too early - but it's there. St Pancras has done its Christmas tree for the year, and the theme is Olympic Gold, which is not surprising given the Eurostar and the Javelin trains to the Olympic Park. It's rather a nice tree, too...
The lettering around the base remembers the summer of sport, the Olympics, the Jubilee, the welcome given by London to people visiting.
It's not as shiny as some of the trees they've had in the past; but I think this is my favourite so far; it's thoughtful, and the spiralling ribbon is a nice design idea.
It's too early - but it's there. St Pancras has done its Christmas tree for the year, and the theme is Olympic Gold, which is not surprising given the Eurostar and the Javelin trains to the Olympic Park. It's rather a nice tree, too...
The lettering around the base remembers the summer of sport, the Olympics, the Jubilee, the welcome given by London to people visiting.
It's not as shiny as some of the trees they've had in the past; but I think this is my favourite so far; it's thoughtful, and the spiralling ribbon is a nice design idea.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Cricket, lovely cricket...
Monty, lovely Monty.
Kevin Pietersen may have won Man of the Match, technically, but 11 wickets is just stunning.
And here he is again, fielding at Hove in August 2011...
This post has no fibre-related content whatsoever. But a 10-wicket victory over India, in India, should tell its own story...
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Indian-ish
Got up early this morning to make the most of the (rather marvellous) cricket on Test match special - not quite at 4am, but during the lunch-break, so around 6:30am. It was horribly blustery and still very, very dark...
It was definitely a morning which demanded a nice pot of tea, in fact. Somehow, a cup just won't do in these circumstances. I've been really remiss with using leaf tea this year, though, and wasn't even really sure what there was in all the caddies - so a lot of sniffing and labelling went on while the first pot was brewing, and now the caddies are organised. Had to be Assam for a first brew, and to fit in with the Mumbai Test. Assam is currently masquerading as mélange Hédiard, as I haven't visited a Hediard in several years...
While I was looking at the spice cabinet, I gave it a bit of a sort-out and realphabetised it. I used to buy spices at Daily Bread, but since I've not had access to a car, I get them at Al-Amin's "rice and spice den". The spice cabinet was something of an afterthought when we redesigned the kitchen; some of the advantages of wall cabinets without the "wall of furniture" feel. The designer worked from a back-of-the-envelope drawing and this is the result.
Also did a bit of weaving. I'm not sure whether this is "tartan". Or, to continue the theme, "madras", which would have been more apt if the Test had been in Chennai...
I think I'm calling it "mad plaid" as a compromise. Fun to do, anyway, even if some of the feltier yarns are making getting a clean shed for the weaving stick a little bit difficult...
Off out soon to Winter Wordfest. Tony and Melissa Benn followed by Rose Tremain.
Friday, November 23, 2012
2012 books, #96-100
East Lynne, by Ellen Wood [Mrs Henry Wood]. Oxford: World's Classics, 2005.
I posted a review of sorts of this last week... I'd read this years ago but had forgotten huge chunks of it, not least the number of absolutely horrible women in it. If you can bear Victorian melodrama, it's a cracking read, even if chunks of it are barely believable...
From a Buick 8, by Stephen King. London: nel [Hodder]: 2002
In 1979, a man in a long black coat abandons his very strange car at a gas station in rural Pennsylvania, and vanishes. The car - in theory, a Buick 8 but in practice, a car which looks as if it's been built by someone who'd never seen a car before - is stored in Shed B by Troop D, a dysfunctional family of cops. Over the years, many strange things happen in and around the car, but the troop keeps its secrets; until the son of one of its members killed in the line of duty comes along and the story is told. This is a fantastic yarn, told in an interweaving way by different members of the troop. There's a warmth and a compassion alongside descriptions which remind you why King is such a famous writer of horror. Horror isn't my genre, but I'll certainly be reading more writing like this.
Killing floor, by Lee Child. London: Bantam, 2011. [World Book Night edition.]
The first of the Reacher books, and really interesting for that reason. Some of these books are first-person, some third-person; this is a first-person narrative set 6 months after Reacher leaves the military police; but, as sometimes happens, he's being picked up in an unknown town for something he hasn't done. There are just a few things which don't totally ring true given that the books are set all over Reacher's biography; but blimey this is a good book; with a completely blindingly simple solve which just about gives the reader whiplash in Jeffrey Deaver mode...
I don't want to.... No. I do want to labour this point, but I promise this is the last time I'll do it. In this World Book Night 2011 edition, someone has painstakingly compiled a Reacher CV, and here are the passport-type details:
And I say again, anyone who immediately thought "Tom Cruise" on viewing that, stand up. I know they have to cast a Big Name, and I have heard that actually, Cruise is "convincing", in the film; and I've seen films where Cruise is a fine actor. I just don't get it though; maybe they've picked the one book in which Reacher doesn't use his sheer, brute size to intimidate/break down doors/hoist someone to an improbable height/kill someone with his bare hands/hurl someone out of danger...
It's like hearing they've cast Rupert Grint as Heathcliff. [I really like Rupert Grint, but he'd probably be the first one to admit that's Not His Role.]
Back of beyond, by C. J. Box. London: Corvus, 2011.
Not a Joe Pickett, but excellent; same setting, and a slightly different cast of characters. A fatal cabin fire seems to be a straightforward case of a drunk's inattention with matches and whiskey, but the first state trooper on the scene happens to know the victim as his AA sponsor, and is absolutely convinced the fire is no accident. The story develops into a chase across Yellowstone, with its hostile animals and even more hostile humans, and involves an adventure-holiday group which gradually seems to being picked off, member by member; and there's a scary and very clever twist in the tail. And as ever with Box, there's violence, but there is redemption.
Having looked up Box's biography, he has three daughters; this book has a pair of very sharply-drawn teenage girls, who, as in the Joe Pickett books, help drive both the plot and the narrative along. (I'm imagining there are only two in the books so he can preserve plausible deniability with the family.)
Stay close, by Harlen Coben [audiobook]. Read by Nick Landrum. Rearsby, Leics.: W F Howes, 2012.
Megan is a minivan-driving suburban mom, but her past life was in the strip clubs and brothels of Atlantic City. Ray is a washed-up photographer who's now reduced to working as a rent-a-paparazzo. Jack is a detective who's never forgotten a 17-year-old case in which Megan and Ray were involved. Their lives become re-entwined as a result of the disappearance of a man in a suburban park, and it can only go downhill from there. There are some good characters in this one, not least Megan's profoundly decent husband Dave.
I posted a review of sorts of this last week... I'd read this years ago but had forgotten huge chunks of it, not least the number of absolutely horrible women in it. If you can bear Victorian melodrama, it's a cracking read, even if chunks of it are barely believable...
From a Buick 8, by Stephen King. London: nel [Hodder]: 2002
In 1979, a man in a long black coat abandons his very strange car at a gas station in rural Pennsylvania, and vanishes. The car - in theory, a Buick 8 but in practice, a car which looks as if it's been built by someone who'd never seen a car before - is stored in Shed B by Troop D, a dysfunctional family of cops. Over the years, many strange things happen in and around the car, but the troop keeps its secrets; until the son of one of its members killed in the line of duty comes along and the story is told. This is a fantastic yarn, told in an interweaving way by different members of the troop. There's a warmth and a compassion alongside descriptions which remind you why King is such a famous writer of horror. Horror isn't my genre, but I'll certainly be reading more writing like this.
Killing floor, by Lee Child. London: Bantam, 2011. [World Book Night edition.]
The first of the Reacher books, and really interesting for that reason. Some of these books are first-person, some third-person; this is a first-person narrative set 6 months after Reacher leaves the military police; but, as sometimes happens, he's being picked up in an unknown town for something he hasn't done. There are just a few things which don't totally ring true given that the books are set all over Reacher's biography; but blimey this is a good book; with a completely blindingly simple solve which just about gives the reader whiplash in Jeffrey Deaver mode...
I don't want to.... No. I do want to labour this point, but I promise this is the last time I'll do it. In this World Book Night 2011 edition, someone has painstakingly compiled a Reacher CV, and here are the passport-type details:
And I say again, anyone who immediately thought "Tom Cruise" on viewing that, stand up. I know they have to cast a Big Name, and I have heard that actually, Cruise is "convincing", in the film; and I've seen films where Cruise is a fine actor. I just don't get it though; maybe they've picked the one book in which Reacher doesn't use his sheer, brute size to intimidate/break down doors/hoist someone to an improbable height/kill someone with his bare hands/hurl someone out of danger...
It's like hearing they've cast Rupert Grint as Heathcliff. [I really like Rupert Grint, but he'd probably be the first one to admit that's Not His Role.]
Back of beyond, by C. J. Box. London: Corvus, 2011.
Not a Joe Pickett, but excellent; same setting, and a slightly different cast of characters. A fatal cabin fire seems to be a straightforward case of a drunk's inattention with matches and whiskey, but the first state trooper on the scene happens to know the victim as his AA sponsor, and is absolutely convinced the fire is no accident. The story develops into a chase across Yellowstone, with its hostile animals and even more hostile humans, and involves an adventure-holiday group which gradually seems to being picked off, member by member; and there's a scary and very clever twist in the tail. And as ever with Box, there's violence, but there is redemption.
Having looked up Box's biography, he has three daughters; this book has a pair of very sharply-drawn teenage girls, who, as in the Joe Pickett books, help drive both the plot and the narrative along. (I'm imagining there are only two in the books so he can preserve plausible deniability with the family.)
Stay close, by Harlen Coben [audiobook]. Read by Nick Landrum. Rearsby, Leics.: W F Howes, 2012.
Megan is a minivan-driving suburban mom, but her past life was in the strip clubs and brothels of Atlantic City. Ray is a washed-up photographer who's now reduced to working as a rent-a-paparazzo. Jack is a detective who's never forgotten a 17-year-old case in which Megan and Ray were involved. Their lives become re-entwined as a result of the disappearance of a man in a suburban park, and it can only go downhill from there. There are some good characters in this one, not least Megan's profoundly decent husband Dave.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)