Mitts a-plenty

I don’t normally like mittens. I was never very interested in them, but then I had the terrible experience with the freaky mitten of perviness and that really put me off them. So when I first saw a pair of thrummed mittens on the internets, I shuddered and clicked away.

But they’ve been preying on my mind ever since. A couple of weeks ago, I realised that I had all the component parts, and decided to chuck aside my fears and have a go at them. A quick rav search led me to the Yarn Harlot’s thrummed mitts. And then I looked at this tutorial, which made me slightly jealous that my roving was so plain, but really inspired me to dive in.

The first one went well. The second one went well until I realised that the pattern was a five-row repeat, not a four-row repeat, and actually all the bit that had gone well (basically from wrist to fingertips) was not well, and had to be ripped out and done again. That was not a nice feeling. Then, when I started again, I got carried away and forgot to do the waste yarn for the thumb. Again, I ripped back. But after that, it really did go well.

I stayed up a bit late last night to finish them, and make sure they would get an outing before the winter ended.

They might not look like much from this side, but when you see what is inside, you will understand the awesome.

PUREST FLUFF. Inside-out they look a little sparse, but right way round, it is a veritable wall of fluff, let me tell you. Even with my poor circulation, my fingers were toasty warm all the way in, and all the way home. It’s a shame one can’t type in them or I’d be wearing them now. Perhaps if I made another pair with the Drops-style texting-thumb…

Personality politics.

On my way home today my eye was caught by the new campaign poster for the Tory party. It features David Cameron looking solemnly out at the viewer, and bears the claim that he will cut the deficit, not the NHS. You can see it here, if you so wish.

First, I was struck by the composition of the poster. David Cameron’s face and a claim made in the first person singular. ‘Goodness,’ I thought, ‘David Cameron’s face. That’s an unusual style for a poster. And interesting wording. I don’t recall having seen that direct an appeal to the viewer before in a campaign poster.’

Then, I wondered where I had seen the expression before. Solemn, thoughtful, but ultimately loveable…

Aww. I’d still rather donate to the Dogs Trust.

Then I spotted the tagline for the campaign. ‘Year for Change’. Umm, you guys? Pres. Obama already did the change thing. Quite recently, actually. If you’re not careful it might look like you’re copying him. What with that and the ‘I’ll…’ in the poster it’s almost (chuckle) as though you’re casting yourself in the role of solo presidential candidate.

Oh.

Happy new year!

I saw out the old one with prosecco and cake, and am about to usher in the new with prosecco and smoked salmon. Definitely a better changeover to the gallon of red wine and stinking hangover of last year.

I like the new year. I don’t do new year’s resolutions, so it’s really relaxing and nice for me (I gave them up a few years ago). I just figure that if it’s that important to give up/take up/do less of/do more of whatever it is, then I probably ought to start doing something about it when I think about it, rather than saving it up for one of the least inspiring months of the year. So in October, I thought it would be good for me if I wrote more. So I started to write more. Ta-daa! I’m already three months ahead of you suckers.

I’ve read a few blog posts about being sure to make ’smart resolutions’. You know, business-speak SMART. Specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, time-specific. Mine would look like ‘write something (that’s fairly specific, right?) every day (measurable), well maybe not every day (achievable), maybe not even every week if I can’t think of anything interesting (realistically speaking), for however long I feel like it (time-specific)’. And what’s the point in that? That’s just what I’m doing already.

Anyway. Happy New Year, Happy New Decade, and best wishes for any resolutions you do make. Don’t let me stop you – up and at them.

For the record.

22 December 2009. That was the day I stopped using The Times as my primary newspaper¹.

You might think it’s the proposed plan to charge for access to the online version of the paper. Perhaps it’s the infuriating way that the RSS feeds force you to go through an ad page to go to the full article from the excerpt. Or the way the RSS feeds when read on a Crackberry send you through to the home page of the mobile site, instead of the actual article you requested, which is now nowhere to be found amongst the 9 articles they make available through the mobile site.

Actually, it was this headline.

“Passengers’ fury at airports as snow steals Christmas”

Really. Really? Snow ’stole’ Christmas? Snow came down from the sky, slapped a small child around the face and ran away with all the presents?

OH NO WAIT. Did it in fact come floating down from the sky in the manner of any other precipitation, and combine with the freezing temperatures and increased traffic to cause hazardous conditions for flying and driving? Y’know, like normally happens in winter?

“Chaos on the roads” is fine. “Many passengers… were inconsolable at being stranded at Christmas” is also fine, if a little emotive for my stony-hearted tastes. Both are, at least, statements of fact. But “snow steals Christmas”? What’s next? ‘Furious passengers take snow hostage and refuse to let it go until it gives back Christmas’? ‘Passengers go on vigilante raid against vicious snowy attacker by amassing huge pile of burning tyres and petrol attempting to hasten rate of global warming’? ‘Callous snow evades capture by melting with the assistance of co-conspirator Unseasonably Warm Few Days Around Christmas?’

Seriously, dudes. WTF. What am I supposed to read now? I can’t read the Telegraph (not posh enough²), I can’t read the Guardian (not an English teacher, can spell), I don’t really like the Independent online site. What’s left?

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¹ Yes, I know, Murdoch should be enough of a reason. I read it because I (normally) like the writing style. If you comment to tell me that Murdoch should be enough of a reason to stop reading The Times, I will know that you didn’t read this footnote, and will be entitled to tell you that you are wrong. On the internet.

² I only say this because I was looking at a recipe from the Telegraph and noticed that it had separate instructions for cooking it in an Aga.

And… relax.

One of my favourite things about the holiday season is the end of it. It would be my absolute favourite thing but ‘champagne for breakfast’ would be disappointed if it were displaced. Apparently champagne makes a very good facial toner, so it can only be good and refreshing for the liver at 9am on Christmas morning. Right? Wiping away grime and removing impurities?

Another good thing about the end of the season is the sales. And, in turn, the best thing about the sales (apart from the sheer joy of watching hatchet-faced women fight over the last reduced pair of fake Uggs) is that this is an excellent opportunity to pick up vast quantities of yarn at reasonable prices. Walking through House of Fraser to get back to work today I found myself quite by chance on the 5th floor, when all of a sudden my card just fell into the machine and bought me a couple of ten-packs of yarn. It had obviously reasoned that the £24.50 saving on the one pack (Rowan Purelife organic wool in a nice heathery purple) would have almost covered the original price of the Patons Wool Tweed DK (sort of navy), therefore the saving of £14.50 on those meant that actually I wasn’t spending any money at all and had earned £10. What a clever card.

I was so pleased and surprised at the spirit and initiative of said card that I nearly bought it two balls of Regia sock yarn in gratitude, but as this was not reduced (and I’m already ploughing through two pairs of never-ending socks) I thought better of it. Actually, I am being pretty naughty at the moment. I have four individual projects on the needles, which is one more than my self-imposed limit.

Yeah, you see? I’m such a rebel. I also very recently told myself that I didn’t need any more yarn because I’ve only just used up enough of my existing stash to be able to fit all of it into the actual stash cupboard. Sigh.

Still, I do think I know what I’m going to do with this new lot. I was in the Old Joint Stock a few weeks ago and saw a fantastic cable-and-lace jumper that I instantly loved. It was only a fleeting glance, but I reckon I can come up with something similar in the purple. The blue is either going to be a light jacket or a more traditional jumper. Perhaps something like an Everyone Knows. A minor consolation, perhaps, but maybe it will spur me on to finish one of these current items. Or more, as I’ll actually have to finish two before I’m allowed to start anything else. Curses.

i wrote a poem because i am fancy

(the layout will probably be shot to hell but eh. Whatever.)

I dream of Knitpicks.
It is a cosy, warm feeling when I imagine
the delights that it has
to offer.
But the illusion is shattered
by the cold light of day.
They will not ship to me
will not look at me
will not love me.
I cry.
I am not even in Scotland
and still
they will not ship to me
will not look at me
will not love me.
I stumble around my house
weeping
finding solace in wool
sourced from my own country,
rich in fleeces.
And I reflect.
I do not need Knitpicks.
They will not ship to me
will not look at me
will not love me
but
I do not need Knitpicks.