how do you know....

when your housekeeping is being called into question? When your cat chooses to projectile vomit deliberately down the side of the almost built in fridge, in order to make you clean the kitchen 'properly'. And all before you've had your first cup of coffee. Ay, me.

Turns out, I have been in a rather grumpy grey mood lately, which is why I haven't been around. And it doesn't seem quite fair to share tales of disgruntled stomping and wooden spoon bashing, when I know tales of ridiculously picky cats (the food had tuna in it, she likes tuna, if she wasn't neutered, and could open the cupboard, I'm sure she would make love to the tuna fish cans, but it turns out she really, really doesn't like the red mullet that came with the tuna. As she has demonstrated, quite stickily and visibly, every time she has tried the delicious red mullet and tuna) and felted frogs.

So, a quick catch up. And behold, a kitten en repose with a felted frog (I don't think she likes it, do you? Oh, and please ignore the dying plant.)


But despite the general tone of heading for a meltdown (dealt with this weekend last, and very cathartic too, if not a little scary for others), I have managed to find time to do some fun things. For I was very kindly given permission to gate-crash SkipNorth07, the annual event when knitters descend on Brontë country, and scare both the locals and the visitors (as it turns out, nothing clears the common rooms in a Youth Hostel faster than a bunch of knitters laying out their wares). I had arranged an assignation with WoollyWormhead and WyeSue to meet the SkipNorthers at the KCG, to lay waste to their yarn mountain. And, of course, drool over some of the KCG collection. I had also arranged to enable young Amore (who had been good, and travelled by train, and therefore had only limited yarn and fibre carrying capacity), by offering to drive her first day's yarn purchases home. (And yes, I did hand over her goodies, unmolested and intact. And yes, my halo is looking shiny right now.) The SkipNorthers looked like they were having a fantastic time, where ideas were exchanged, new skills learnt, old skills passed on, and most importantly friendships created and reaffirmed. And the local yarn stores they visited have, by all accounts, begun to recover from their ravishing. (And I met many others, including many I have met before, and as usually useless didn't take/remember names, sorry, and I'll do better next time.)

What else, what else, oh yes, some knitting, in gloriously fat Jacob wool, still slightly infused with its lanolin. To make a gloriously comfortable, functional, long, pocketed cardigan. In which I have worked not only short row bust darts, which I hope are not place around my navel (no comments about the natural proclivities of gravity on older wobbly bits, without the benefit of fabric and wire engineering), but also short row 3-needle bind off shoulders! And on this triumphant note, I shall run away, and go and do something productive. Which might involve knitting.