use your imagination

A no-photo post today, because I have managed to lose my camera. So, I will just have to tell you about all the wonderful things I have knitted (and you can decide if I am telling the truth or not).

First up, the aran, which was going to knitted with all-over twisted stitches (eastern/western crossed technique), for extra warmth and bubbly texture. Until proper knitters started laughing at me. And the swatch proved that I have nothing in my stash for an aran (oh, sure, there is some lovely stuff there, but you know when you want something just right, and it isn't, and what there is is obviously planned for other things), but it made a very nice striped swatch-blanket for a friend's new and fancy pair of multicoloured slippers. And then the weather kyboshed the plan, because today the sun came out, again, and it might indeed be starting to be warm(ish), and who makes an aran for the summer.

Then, the socks. Three pairs, in matching disarray of not done-ness. The first, for friend one, is close. But it is far more fun to make her whip out her feet at inopportune moments, in public, and try them on for size checking, so they may never be finished. The second, for friend two (who does much work for AIDS charities), will be in glorious toning reds (please, CTH, none of the dye problems that have been muttered about in various places, but oooh, liking it to knit with), with ribbon twist clocks, but I need to sneakily check her feet size, for that full-on surprise effect. The third, for me, me, me, in STR, is fully in potentia.

Then, the promises. The sweater for my godson, with a digger on the front (though mum keeps campaigning for a dinosaur). Promised for his birthday, in July, but it means intarsia in cotton, and I am afeared of the evil cotton colour combining. (I should make it in wool, but that boy likes his handknits, has a habit of wearing them there and then, and I don't want to be accused of giving him sun-stroke.) The matching-but-not-identical pretty pretty things for the matching-but-not-identical pretty pretty new young twins. The pretty pretty things for the singular, but equally pretty pretty other new young girl (although I have a cunning plan for this, which involves the work of another, and I hope will be revealed soon).

And, of course, the Iceland thing. Which at the moment is still very much being planned, the key to which seems to be an incredibly avaricious purchasing of extra goodies (shiny things, little beady things, sparkly glittery things, and if I'm not careful I'm going to end up with some kind of mutated steam-roller flattened my little pony/barbie princess things). That, and getting all down and dirty with some matches, 'cos I was doing the burn test on various acquired, but not labelled, and might be useful, and if you are sure I can take them, otherwise they might be thrown away, yarns.

Hmmm, I seem to have moved from named, planned, but inappropriate, to completely sand-castle in the Severn estuary when the tidal bore is coming it will be something someday but not quite sure what 'things'. And wasted innumerable words on really nothing at all.

Aha, an idea to make up for it. Go and look at the pretty pictures of the knitted garden. Then bow your head in grief for the loss of the tortoise who went missing in Glasgow, but cross your fingers and hope that young Shep will track him down.

(The camera has now been found, knocked down behind the bed following a cat climbing bookshelves in search of food incident. The camera seems unharmed, the cat.... And yes, my life is this boring. How boring? Well, boring enough to find it hysterically funny when reminded by a 'friend' that I have not known the beast with two yadda yadda yadda since the last century. That boring.)