for Myriam

Myriam - I asked a friend to write this in French for you. I hope it helps, but I am not an expert, and my friend does not knit. My friend also found you another website to try, which has places which will translate knitting terms, and further down the page, there are some links to French knitting blogs:
http://www.geocities.com/mwillsondesigns/translations


Bonjour Miriam,

Pour le 'blocking', je me sers de 'blocking wires' (fils), qui sont en acier inox mince main assez résistant et très lisse. J'ai trouvé les miens ici: (http://www.heirloom-knitting.co.uk/cart/dressing_wires.php). Vous aurez également besoin d'aiguilles de bonne qualité.

Quand le châle est terminé, lavez le doucement a la main. Enroulez le dans une serviette pour absorber l'eau, puis étalez le soigneusement sur une surface plate et propre. J'enfile les fils a travers les extrémités du châle et retient les fils en place avec des aiguilles. Doucement, en faisant attention de garder la bonne tension, je donne la bonne forme au châle en tirant doucement. C'est le bon moment pour vérifier s'il y des erreurs ou des mailles lâchées, et les réparer. Je laisse sécher au cours d'une nuit. Vous pouvez distendre le châle fermement, la laine devrait être assez résistant. Faites attention de ne pas tirer trop brusquement.

Voici une autre site qui vous aidera peut être – il y a des images utiles:
http://www.earthheartdesigns.com/Earth%20Heart%20pages/Knitting%20Fun/Tips%20&%20Hints/blocking_lace.htm

J'espère que ça vous aidera. Bonne chance pour la compétition.

distraction tactics

You will be pleased to know that the new car made it home safely, made it in through the ancient rusty gates safely (about 15cm total clearance - takes me 10 minutes to get in and out of the drive now), and has received cat approval. Susie was most miffed that I took her red car away, but she has decided, after some judicious sniffing, that the shiny new silver car is an equally good heat conductor, and just right for sunbathing (after total block has been applied to her ears). Oh, goody, cat claws and shiny new metallic paint.

I only wish, Daisy, that I could reprogramme the car to allow knitting! Or perhaps find an ever so helpful monkey to help share the driving duties.

And it is nice to know that helpful people, aka Carrie K, are trying to encourage me in finding my way through the maze that is Lord of the Rings (and no, I haven't watched all of the movies yet, and I'm liking the knit so much, that I've decided to do it all again - update soon, over on the official FotRS site, as soon as I stop crying.)

And I have found yet more distractions - and then was so distracted that I forgot to mention them. But I signed up for The Amazing Lace the other week (look, button in sidebar and all, how official), which is the devious concept of Theresa and Rachel. I'm sure that it is meant to encourage us all in the knitting of lace, but seeing as my current progress can be measured in minus numbers, I'm not sure that I'll ever make it to the end. Still, many pretty things over there to look at, so go look.

What else, what else. Well, apologies for having not been as good as going round all the blogs recently, as I am still silly busy - so could you just all stop being so prolific, maybe just try posting once every couple of weeks or so? That way, I don't get so behind, and miss out on visiting some of my favourite people and seeing what they have all been up to.

What else - oh, you came for knitting? So could I get on with it? Well, no knitting going on here, but I have a double confession. Which I had been hoping I wouldn't have to make, what with the distractions and all. For not only have I been playing on the dark side (yes, the evil crochet), but that I also I killed some yarn.



I happen to be lucky enough to know Hello Mango (Hi, Mango, waving frantically), in actual person, down at the local knit club. And every so often, Hello Mango brings some of her handspun with her. Beautiful stuff, soft, delicious, and colours which just called to my inner 5 year old child, bright, vibrant, screaming out to be made into a dinky little summer bag, with a great big crocheted flower on the outside. So over the weekend I hooked up a bag, for felting (yes, I know, officially it is fulling). And I threw it in the washing machine, because pah, hand-felting. And it felted just fine, down to the right size, kept just a hint of stitch definition (which I wanted), small enough to make the inner 5 year old happy, just large enough to put a couple of summer essentials in. But. And this is where it gets awful. I killed the yarn. I've already grovelled to Hello Mango (who does have a name, Zoe, but I like writing Hello Mango) and apologized, and she has been very kind and not threatened to never sell me yarn again. But I killed it. Because I borrowed a pair of jeans to throw in with the bag, and didn't stop to think about dye. So the denim dye did what it would do, and dyed Hello Mango's bright lucious colours a slightly denim dull dye shade. Readers, I made the yarn die. I am sorely ashamed, and so ashamed that I cannot give you further details of my heinous crime. But apparently, Puplet, who has no shame, has kidnapped the bag, and will be giving full details, with photographic evidence, of how I killed a fimble last weekend.

And now, I will leave you with the final distraction, a photo of Fran, the great huntress. Little Fran is growing big and strong, gamboling through the tall, weed-infested grass out back (wildlife friendly, I'll have you know, not lazy gardeners), and bringing home her kills to share, and be admired.

And what would the great huntress be bringing home? Why, the most deadly creature know to cat or human, the most difficult to trap, to carry, to capture. Nothing other than the garden worm. Our kitten, the great worm-charmer. Lovely, underfoot, first thing in the morning.

full-time score

Coffee vs Knitting

Coffee 0 :: Knitting 23

Sorry for being all cryptic - and I only wish, Mary-Lou, that life had taken over because of fun things, like birthdays!

No, just one of those silly, silly times when everything just gets far too busy, and there was NO TIME FOR KNITTING. You know, when suddenly you feel like you have to spend your life in the car, and being the driver, you CAN'T KNIT, or you get put on a quiz team, and you CAN'T KNIT, or there are 8,001 people round wanting drinks and food, and you spend your time jumping up and down getting coffee and tea and water and wine and nibbles and olives and cheese and dinner and crisps and you CAN'T KNIT. And then you have to do the washing up of the 8,001 people who wanted all the coffee and tea and so on, so you CAN'T KNIT. And then all the washing up has made your hands cracky spodgy prunes, so even if you had the time, you CAN'T KNIT. And then, what with all the driving around, and the driving of the others around, you decide that the car really is just a little bit sick and old, and if you were going to spend far too much money fixing the car, you might just as well spend far too much money getting a new car, so you have to go and test drive possibly new cars, and you REALLY CAN'T KNIT driving a strange car. And then you have to do all the 'how much? You must think I came down in the last shower' conversations with the car people, and although sharp pointy needles can be just a bit threatening, I'm not sure that they really work when you are trying to be all hard-nosed and no I haven't fallen in love with this car, which by the way was officially registered on my birthday, and I really, really want it, and I'm making it a set of fluffy dice right now, and then maybe a car cosy, so you CAN'T KNIT. (Now, there is an idea, handmade fluffy dice....)

But, I think I have now reclaimed the balance - or rather that knitting has reclaimed its rightful place as in charge. For this morning, I took delivery of both my regular supply of coffee beans, and a second-hand, but absolutely untouched Gansey kit, which must have come from these people (bought in 1987, cost £32.80, 'cos they left the receipt in the bag, and lookie, lookie, it would cost me £67.35 now, and the friend it came from wouldn't even take any money for it - so we compromised and left cash for charity).

Coffee is precious to me. I hold my hands up and admit that I am one of those sad people that cannot function with caffine - do not ever talk to me first thing in the morning unless I have had my coffee - and the beans, all 3.5kg of them, live in the bottom of the fridge-freezer, in the special coffee beans only drawer. Each delivery, the packages are carefully unwrapped, stroked, sniffed, and lovingly placed away until needed, welcome, Costa Rica, ah, the Nepalese, how nice to have some of you again, my old friend Mocha, and Mysore, hiding in the back there. But the gansey kit? There is a chance, that although untouched by human hands, it might have played host to a few little critters, there was just a hint of something crusty that might once have been the casing for some moth larva - only on the 2 'spare' balls, which had been left loose, to fend for themselves (how my heart bleeds). But needs must, and now the coffee has to fend for itself, not even taken out of its cardboard box, as each of the 12 balls has been unwrapped, had a quick examination, and then put away, in the bottom drawer of the fridge-freezer, until I have both strength and time to carefully, carefully, carefully crawl along each and every inch of each and every ball, to see what else might have been crawling along.

So, you see, all is as it should be now. The wool has taken over. I've even been making non-progress progress over on the FotRS.

And now, I must leave, to go and get a 'new' car (it makes fancy bleeping noises, I've never had a car that bleeped at you before, and had buttons to press and make bleeping noises, and told you to put your seat-belt on! How long before I start bleeping back at it?)

Can you cross you fingers, so that I at least get it home without pranging it?

half-time score

Life vs Knitting

Life 1 :: Knitting 0


In immortal words of surely someone wise, it is all a bit poo.

Mayday, mayday

Come Mayday, I will be officially casting-on for Sharon Miller's Wedding Ring Shawl. Come Mayday evening, I will just be sending out mayday messages.

You see, this is what happens when you start blogging, you 'meet' people. And they seem nice, kind, clever, funny, and sometimes you start leaving comments, and sometimes those comments turn into emails. And then, someone who you thought was nice, kind, clever, funny turns around and decides to play Flight of the Bumble Bee using your brain as their xylophone. And so the dear, delightful Snow signed us up to a joint, transatlantic adventure, were we would share the pleasures and pains of knitting the Wedding Ring Shawl together. And because she isn't putting me through enough already, we have become the Fellowship of the Ring Shawl (thanks, Mary-Lou). So now I have to watch those blasted movies (if you are a Tolkein freak, I apologize for the diss, but the most Tolkein I ever managed to read was less than a paragraph before I ran screaming from the room), and work out clever and witty over-extended metaphors and puns and references, as if the whole knit itself isn't going to be enough.

But I have to say that the FotRS site is very pretty, as is the button (look, sidebar, linking, even available for your own site, download properly etc., etc., 'cos if you don't the RingWraiths will get you) thanks to the tender ministrations of Scrine, web-designer extraordinaire and cute squinty bird. Who will be watching over us, our own little Gandalf, ready to step in and take control if we lose it too badly.

And, as if that isn't enough, there is even a Knitting the One Ring ring (details on FotRS), so that you can ALL come and play (yes, I'm looking right at you, Wye Sue). Because Snow and I can't be the only ones mad enough to knit this.

So, all that aside, I have been doing other things, now that my back has been crunched into submission by the osteopath. I thought, first, I would work on lace, because I need all the practice I can get, so 40 rows of Sharon Miller's Spring Shawl, which doesn't look very much at all in the photo. And has been put aside, because, funnily enough, I have a hankering to work with large and chunky things right now. So I have my head down, my hands round some 7.5mm needles, and am concentrating on finally finishing a habu jacket. Oh, and fighting with the weed-fest that is the garden (dandelions look so pretty, from a distance), 'cos garden beat-up green stained hands make lace so much easier.

For those who dance round the maypole, have a fun weekend.

Oh, and aren't you impressed with all my casually tossed in LotR words! Look at me, I do Tolkein now.

Oh, and did I mention the FotRS thing?

exciting news...

and many plans, but it will all have to wait, as I've put my back out. Indeed, I, and the food, needed to be rescued from the supermarket carpark by a friend today.

Still, if you want to know, go and see Snow, who has forced my hand, and signed us up to something ...
Meanwhile, can't move, can't knit, but baby is the painkiller high fun.

mother and daughter

A few months ago, one of my favourite people ever, L., gave birth to a daughter (who could not love a woman who says of her first born: "... to me she is lovely. She is improving by the day in the looks department - less like Brando and more like a little piglet." Now, I have promised that little M. will get handknits, and she will, when I get round to it (I'll know this girl for years, so I've got time). But I wanted to get mother and daughter something really special, made just for them, from start to finish. (Let us ignore the fact that these are hats, and we are heading for summer - the hats are not tacky-fashion-will-go-out-of-season-in-a-flash hats, and will work just as well next winter. And by then there is an outside chance that L. and I will have actually managed to get together, and I will actually get to meet M.)

So a few weeks agos, I turned to one of my new favourite people, Ruth, and demanded that she help. And Ruth, with her professional hat on, came through for me. She wasn't scared when I said there were no photos of L. Ruth wasn't scared when I said I have absolutely no memory for faces, and couldn't tell her what L. looked like, even if I were staring L. in the face. Ruth wasn't scared when I started on the long and rambling stories of things done with L., all in a vague attempt to capture character.

Ruth asked me clever questions, made suggestions as to shape and colour and style, sent me work-in-progress photos, and delivered (came in under budget, too!). Two gorgeous, hand-dyed, hand-spun hats, warm and interesting and beautifully finished, one in cashmere, one in merino and silks, which I know fit L., in body and soul.

falling

You know how I said that I had all these things I needed to do? All those plans I had made, to make socks and jumpers and baby clothes? You didn't really think I was actually going to be sensible, did you?

Good. Because instead I made a small moebius scarf, in luscious Lion and Lamb (mixed berries, if you must), in one of my favourite, favourite stitches, brioche. (I feel so unutterably extravagantly elegant, working brioche, swooping down for the yarn overs, scooping up through the slip, finishing with a satisfying, anchoring k2tog.) Which I promptly gave away, before I took a photo (I'll eat mixed berries til the summer pudding runs out, but they aren't something I'll wear.)

And then, because the world seems to be dotted with devious little traps at the moment, I finally fell down the rabbit hole. Now this rabbit hole is a travelling rabbit hole, and I know of at least two 'victims'. Snow fell down, a while ago, when she bumped into Alice Starmore's Laleli. Cassie just keeps falling from one rabbit hole into another (but she's briefly come up for air, and is making some serious cute holders for an emergency sock kit, which would be almost perfect if they weren't for the evil dpns). And I would warn you, I don't know where it is going to hit next. And I would warn you, because this rabbit hole makes you come over all Super-Knitter Super-Hero (what would the costume be? Hair held up with crochet hooks? Circular whips? Stitch markers to pin you down? Lace shawls to tie you up? A knitter's bag, all porcupine-y with dpns, just right for clouting round the head. Sweeping past in a cape of all the swatches you have - of course - made and kept and labelled and numbered and catalogued?), and things that in a saner moment would bring fear and trembling suddenly seem a snip-snap-snop. Because this week, I thought I could knit the Wedding Ring Shawl.

Now wiser knitters than I will survive playing with bunnies, I'm sure. But based on the swatches above, I think I hit just about every tree branch on my way down. The first swatch, on the bottom left, is in a Shetland Cobweb (914m per 20g), done at night, in bed, watching a dvd. The second swatch, the abomination bottom right, is in a Gossamer Silk (700m per 20g), done at knit club, worked when awake, in good light, in a good chair, with a lovely helpful young man who brings you coffee at regular intervals. The lesson learnt being me talking and lace is a bad, bad, bad thing. Also that silk is just waiting to pounce, and make a fool of you. (The top swatch is in a mysterious coned yarn, thicker than the others, but after the silk bit back, I thought I just ought to behave and practice.)

So, guess what I ordered.

Send supplies, I could be down here some time.

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.)

new homes

(cos daddy is a football fan)

I'm feeling deeply virtuous today, because not only have I done some knitting, but I have given knitting away.

First, some deeply silly little things made their way, with the help of some post-people and planes, trains and automobiles, all the way to Canada - to the home of Chub Creek. Where, apparently, it can get very cold, and pop-screen covers and microphones need keeping warm. Now, I'm a radio baby (a house isn't complete without a radio in every room), and I love me some talk radio. And if the presenter happens to be just a slightly bit odd, in a good way, and there is maybe a bit of music thrown in, nothing makes me happier. So, it is perfectly natural that I also love me some podcasts. And young Dave, co-host extraordinaire of Chub Creek (Gary is on sabbatical at the moment), took his life in his hands recently, stepped up the mark, and guested for Brenda Dayne's Cast-on (episode 15) a couple of weeks ago. Brave man, to tackle the might of the addi-turbo users, being a non-knitter, and I thought he did such a good job that he needed some kind of reward (well, that, and I was bored, and he mentioned that his pop-screen was looking a little dishevelled). So I forced a reward upon him. And he said he liked them (or else he is scared of what a pair of addi turbos might do). So.

By the way, Sage of Quirky Nomads guested for Brenda (episode 16) as well - and did a gem of a job. And this week Franklin of The Panopticon will be guesting - breaking news is that Dolores will not be involved (some disagreement over harmonica solos), which is probably a blessing in disguise. (Seriously, listening to podcasts, if you have the technology and inclication, is a wonderful way to spend some time, so go, listen, and if you like, send them some cookies, as Brenda would say.)

But back to the giving away of the knits. 'Cos this week I also got to go and see some friends, and meet their brand new twin girls. (I would say they are little, but at 6 pounds a piece, for twins not so little). Gratifyingly, I could tell them apart, but just in case I brought with me a couple of hats, matching, but not identical. (The girls themselves were a little camera shy - but imagine dinky little ones scootched down in the bassinet in the photo, below their matching, but not identical hats). And, because Daddy is a football fan, they are in his favourite team's colours. Because a man needs to sit between his daughters, on the sofa, in front of the TV, all cheering for the same team together, in matching, but not identical, hats. And mum got the olympic knit shawl, because new mothers need something warm and soft and comforting to wrap up in.

And it is good that I am feeling virtuous, because I have been being selfish, and keeping secrets. If you are a habitual knit-blog crawler, you may have come across mention of Socks that Rock, the new über-yarn for sock knitters. And you may also have heard of the Socks that Rock Club (look, they even have their own KAL). And then cried and wailed and stamped your feet, because at first, they were only going to ship to North America. But, if you are really lucky, you get emergency emails from friend-nablers (Snow, have I told you how wonderful you are, and thanked you enough for the heads-up?), who tell you that they will ship to the UK, but you need to order 'schnell, schnell, schnell', because the club is almost full? And because I am selfish, I didn't share the news, because I wanted to keep the yarn all to myself. And it is a good thing, the giving away of knits, because my socks that rock kit arrived this morning, and it is beauteous and righteous, and if I hadn't been giving away knits, my karma would have been seriously kicked into the negative. Because the yarn is beauteous and righteous, and I was a bad, bad knit-blogger, not to share.


Now, though, I think I'd better go and knit some more to give away, just to make sure.

nmk

(an example of NMK, being possible elements of the
"evoking Iceland shawl")

This past week has been devoted to being not terribly productive at all. But if I wanted to spin it (I love spin), I would say I indulged in the latest trend - New Minimalist Knitting*.

New Minimalist Knitting is fantastic. The solution to all of those knitting mojo-less moments. The solution to spending all your time in the newest amphibian aquarium. The solution to when knitting time is limited, ideas are non-existent, and all round cack-handedness rules. It is, in fact, the Emperor's New Clothes of the yarn world.

To practice New Minimalist Knitting, take a ball or two of yarn, unwind just a little, then place it on the floor, a shelf, a pretty plate, drape it on the window sill, toss it on a chair. (The advanced NMKer need not even take the yarn out of their stash.) Then - and this is the really clever part - you stand back, admire, and pronounce done. (You can always take a photo for your records.)

There may be those who lack the imagination, or rigourous training in NMK (there are group courses available, of course, contact your LYS for details, but an intensive series of one-to-one sessions, where the master NMKer comes to your home, is the best way to go), and complain that a ball of yarn has been left somewhere inconvenient, with threads hanging off, just waiting to trip them up. But sit them down, and explain that if they concentrate really, really hard, they will begin to see the finished item. With focus, they will soon be able to visualise the days and weeks and hours of planning, of knitting, of finishing. Slowly, the yarn will be transformed, threads will pick themselves up, and loop together, knotting delicately, but with absolute surety, into swathes of knitted beauty. The potentiality of the yarn has been achieved. And all is good with the world.

*both photo and phrase coined by Puplet, who was having a bit of a silly weekend. I think he might have been at the catnip.

being silly, wasting time

Not blocked, or decently finished, but because I (foolishly) said I would make something for a non-knitting Canadian.

Just over 4 inches wide, in Margaret Stove's laceweight, on 1.5mm/000USA needles. Just because.

Don't believe me? Kitten for scale.


(see, it is very, very small, but 200 stitches around!)

Pattern taken from Marianne Kinzel's Maple Garland Christening Shawl, from her 2nd book of Modern Lace Knitting.


And I also made them a spoon cover. I don't know why, it seemed like a good idea at the time.



I think I'm in avoidance mode.

once, I must have done something good...

because the other day, I got sent this.


And this isn't just ordinary wool, either. This is special, surprise wool, present wool, bouncy, soft, comes from a named flock wool (the Pyefinch flock, if anyone wants to know), lace weight wensleydale wool, creamy gorgeousness that must be used for something good wool. And all because Ms Ruth WoollyWormhead is a kind and generous person, who fell for my 'pity me, pity me' posts about having 'flu (in winter too, who would have thought).

And the wool has passed the cat test, and been pronounced good. But because this wool came out of the left field, it is demanding that it be treated differently, and it wants to evoke, EVOKE, I tell you.

So although there is knitting going on (no, I didn't shut down completely after, what was it now, some kind of knotting or macrame jamboree, but it was close), and things are being done, and things put away half-done are being brought out of storage to complete, and there are some projects that have due dates (who knew that small boys could be so very demanding as to precise colour combinations and models of diggers to be depicted). And that is all very fine and good, and fun and productive and, and, and. But my mind is dreaming of creamy white swirls.

And the wool, it wants to be this when it grows up. It wants to be the trip to Iceland I made years ago now, the trip where I heard silence, walked behind waterfalls, talked and talked and talked (and sat in silence, quite comfortably) with a very dear friend, found lava and sulphur and guinness and amazingly good coffee, and black sand and sunlight (oh, the light), and ice lakes. So now, I just have to work out how.

the stats edition

Well, the shawl has now been test-worn (thanks Blueadt, and I didn't really mean to wrestle you to the floor to get it back), and confirmed as warm, if just a tad sheddy.

From tip to tip, relaxed after blocking, it measures 80 inches across, and 30 inches top to bottom (just over 2 metres, and 76cm for the metric crowd).

It took 16 balls of Artesano Alpaca Inca Cloud (a fair trade yarn from Bolivia) in Chocolate (a shy 8 balls, with the extra for joining) and Oatmeal (nearly all of 8 balls), or 2096 yards, or 1920 metres, and weighs in at 800gms, or 1.7lbs, knit on 4mm/USA6 needles. In other words, it is rather large, but then I am only 5'1".

I based the shape on the Litla Dimun Shawl, from Cheryl Oberle's 'Folk Shawls', used Bridget Rorem's Lace Alphabet from Piecework Magazine May/June 1998, and the gusset patterns were from Barbara G. Walker. I consulted Myrna Stahman's 'Shawls & Scarves', 'Faroese Knitting Patterns: Knitted Shawls' translated by Marilyn van Keppel, and the Faroese Shawl pattern, again by Marilyn van Keppel, in Meg Swansen's 'A Gathering of Lace'. And the final, invaluable, source was Carol Connors' webpages on Faroese Shawls and Lace Knitting. You see, a truly collaborative effort. (Oh, and thanks as well to some friends who might have been rung at odd hours of the day, and had to listen to me babble incoherently about how you calculate the size of a right angle triangle, how to calculate gauge, and how to estimate the amount of yarn needed - all of which I got badly wrong.)

The yarn itself was fairly well behaved, although the chocolate was quite fragile when you unwrapped the 2 strands to spit splice (and it took a lot of spit too). Oddly, the oatmeal colour was more robust - because it was undyed? - but also more unevenly spun. Still, I was more than happy with the yarn for this shawl, as I wanted something that hinted at the rustic.

The inspiration for the colours and shape came from the film Babette's Feast, which I watched, again, a few months ago, and realised that knitter is now part of my identity. But the overall inspiration was Yarnharlot herself, and all the knitbloggers I have 'met'.

Finally, thank you all for your kind comments - when I started blogging, I told myself I didn't care if no-one visited, or if no-one commented, as I was writing to get over my fear of the hard, physical, written down word, rather than the ephemera, and easily forgettable, of the spoken. But as I've moved around the blogosphere, stopping in on others, sometimes staying, sometimes moving on, sometimes even commenting myself, I've realised that there is a real person looking at a computer screen somewhere else, and that this is all a conversation. And words themselves are fine and dandy, but the real treasure is that there is someone to talk with. (But if you don't comment, don't worry, I love you too - and I know you are there, because my stat counter tells me so. And if you've commented and I haven't replied, it is because blogger won't give me your email address, and that I am often useless.)

Finally, finally, that is the closest you will get to seeing a photo of me, so count yourselves lucky. (Puplet took the photos, by the way.)

And finally, finally, finally, brownie points and cleverness to Mary-Lou - and have you seen what she got a gold for! - for having picked up on the church bell reference in the motto, which she privately identified as having been pinched from Dorothy L. Sayers 'The Nine Tailors', a tale of murder, mystery, and campanology. (Lord Peter Wimsey, be still my beating heart.)

it's the taking part that counts, right?

One more day, that was all I needed, one measly 24 hours. Well, that, and drying time, and decent light to take a half-way decent photo. But the Olympic Knit, she is done.

So what did I learn? That in a perfect world, I could have knit a Faroese style shawl, with lining, in 16 days (I did the lining in 5 days). But the world isn't perfect, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Am I sorry I missed out on the medals? No. Most defiantly, definitely not. Because it is seldom that I drag myself out of my default state of torpor, and actually bother to apply myself. And I did, for this. I went and learnt about Faroese shawls, just a bit. I went and worked on my charting, just a bit. I even tried some maths, just a bit (and know that I need to go back to school, because the state of my maths is abysmal). I set myself a challenge to try something new, and I did.

I joined in, and I'm not really a joiner. I visited new blogs, met new bloggers, been astounded by the work they do, and by their generosity. (And greatly appreciated the generosity of those who were sane, did not take part in the K.O., and yet still indulged this madness in others.) I've thought about what the meaning of community is (hey, I've got a background in social anthropology), and applauded the efforts of thousands around the world.

I took some time out, to concentrate on one thing only, tried it on for size, and confirmed that I don't really work that way, though I can, if I have to.

I learnt that I'm not afraid of knitting, I'm not afraid of getting it wrong, of making a mess, because things are fixable, work-roundable, forgivable.

And although you can't see it (I'll try and get some better photos up over the next couple of days), the slogan around the bottom of the shawl is * K O * YARNHARLOT GAVE ME * T S F [for Tricoteuses sans frontières] * KNITBLOGGERS MADE ME *. The lace on the panel is, from the bottom up, fir cone, christmas tree, and snowflake.

Right, I'm off now, to make some socks. And if anyone knows anyone who is really, really cold, I happen to have a seriously warm, two-layered alpaca shawl lying around, that needs a good home.

saturday morning

I'm taking bets - do you think I can make it?

By Saturday night, under 2 balls to go. Sadly, I think I am just about peverse enough to finish the knit. (And when all this is over, someone make me go out and get a life.)

The big question is, how fast does alpaca dry.

upgraded

susoolu: I'm ill.
Doctor: You sure?
susoolu: Yes.
Doctor: If you say so.
susoolu: For 8 days.
Doctor: Flu?
susoolu: Yes.
Doctor: Cough?
susoolu: Yes.
Doctor: Blood?
susoolu: Yes.
Doctor: Bronchitis.
susoolu: Thought so.
Mad man: Could be TB.
susoolu: (throwing of scabby tissues at doctor) Don't be so stupid.
Doctor: Just saying, makes it more exciting. But okay, probably not.
susoolu: How did the English exam go? [Doctor had to pass exam to get sabbatical and work in Australia for 6 months. Bastard.]
Disgruntled Student: I passed, but my waffle wasn't 100%.
susoolu: Are you sure? Maybe you should get the marks checked.
Doctor: Yeah, you know, brought down by mandatory medical illegible handwriting.
susoolu: It happens. Where are you going in Australia?
Travel agent: Here, let me show you on GoggleEarth. [10 minute discussion on merits of Australia, swimming with sharks, medical systems globally]
susoolu: I should probably go now. Can I have my prescription?


I've given in, and am now officially ill. I think it was the refusing of caffeine which might have been the tip off. But the good news is, I get magic little blue pills, which will make everything feel better. (There are times when my love for penicillin, in all its forms, rivals my love for shetland spun yarn.)

That said, the Shawl (part 1) will be off the needles tonight. (Yippee! Said very quietly, as anything above sotto voce brings on a phlegm attack.) So I will sort out the provisional cast-on, and head for blocking. There is an outside chance that there might be photos tomorrow.

Thanks for all the suggestions re alternatives to knitting a lining. Still, 4 days left, so surely a lining is possibly (I now have magic blue pills to help). Okay, so that may be my oxygen-starved brain talking, but I will not surrender, nor lay down my needles, nor put away my yarn, until the flame has died! Knit on, knit on, and knit again.

still no pictures (and I'm still not ill)

(I apologise for any incoherence, crabbiness, rambling, etc., etc., but I'm not ill.)

What, you want a picture of a large and unwieldly pile of brown shawl? Ain't going to happen, not today. Cos I'm not ill, and I haven't had a fever, and I'm not behind, and I'm not surrounded by used tissues, and I'm not cranky. But I am lying. (I'm ill enough to have spent most of this week asleep, taking painkillers, and drinking lots of liquids, but not ill enough to go to the doctor, who would just say go to sleep, take painkillers, and drink lots of liquids. Hrmph. But I'm getting better, because I'm now getting pouty cross with it all.)

Okay, so I will finish the shawl - I'm on row 72 (of 200 or so), and the dream about casting on 441 stitches, and then losing some every other row, is it all goes faster and faster. So I will finish the shawl. But, and this is where it gets tricky - I did sign up and say I would also knit a lining. Miles and miles of garter stitch. And then there is the blocking, and the joining together. It's the lining that scares me! And does anyone know when on 26th the flame is due to go out? (That, and I'm having to sacrifice blog-reading time, to olympic knitting and being not ill, which is poohy.)

But I have learned one thing. Do not attempt a spit splice if you have a) just eaten crisps/dry biscuits, or b) just swigged the really sticky cough medicine.

if I ever

mention anything again that involves me doing my own charts, can someone please, please, take me gently by the hand, lead me outside, and then hit me repeatedly around the head with a mouldy kipper.

After having successfully identified that I was trying to fit a 28 stitch pattern into 25 stitches, I merrily went on my knitting way. And another row was done. (Look, that makes 20 rows.)

Then, I realised that having corrected the quart into pint pot basic error, I now had a whole stuffing a quart into a teaspoon error. Because in shuffling the 28 stitches, I had somehow forgotten it would then impact on the next 200 stitches, and throw the second half of each and every knit row out. Yes, I get points for thinking ahead.

Yippee, more counting, figuring, refiguring. Problem fixed. 21 rows completed (379 to go). 4 rows later, I see that there was indeed a much easier fix, which didn't involve throwing what little symmetry I had out the window. A fix that I had already suggested to myself in my notes, but been too lazy to mark up. The notes that have been scanned, photocopied, with back-ups left in fire-and-water-and-act-of-God proof safes, and carried near 800 miles since the Knitting Olympics began. The notes that I had not consulted. The notes that are now muddy and wet, after the cat came in from the cold and sat on them, twice (I think she might be a double-agent - come on, which team has been bribing her with tuna fish?).

Make that two mouldy kippers.

so I might have got distracted

So I might have got just a little bit distracted from the Olympic Knit - but I had to do something, to stop myself casting on before the actual pyromaniac moment. So, in the front, the start of a sock which actually seems to marry yarn and pattern well, unlike the poor Oriel sock - Nancy Bush's Conwy, from her 'Knitting on the Road' in the Motherlode colourway from Lorna's Laces. (See, I do learn. Although it seems to be the kind of learning which comes from my own numbwitted experience, and not from listening to the better advice of others. Were you the kind of child who would still put their hand in a fire, even though they had been told, repeatedly, that a fire is very hot, and it would burn, and it would hurt, and you still did it anyway, just to check? Are you kind of person that is irresistibly drawn to push the large red button that says 'do not press, under any circumstances'? Because I was that child, and I am that person. Mmmm, large red buttons...)

Anyway, hiding in the back of the photo, being a little ruff to keep the ball of alpaca warm, is the very small beginnings of the 'It is meant to be a Faroese Shawl, but it seems to be trying to develop a confused identity all of its own Shawl' official olympic object.

But I'm home now, after an exciting weekend playing with my godson down in London (and he has not given me a bug, I am not coughing, I am not losing my voice, I do not have a fever, and I do not want to crawl back into bed surrounded by cats), and I'm optimistic. Particularly now that I have stopped trying to fit a 28 stitch pattern into what was, is, and always will be 25 stitches wide.

Is there an olympic medal for having successfully navigated the knitter's own stupidity?

Oh, and new excitement over in the side-bar. Pixeldiva cracked (knew someone would), and volunteered herself to set up a Team GB blog, at the very last moment. Go look, there is some good knitting there, and surely medals are in the offing.