Charlotte, that sentence yesterday was badly phrased. I am embarrassed. I was surprised, if at all, to discover not just literate writing but the rest of the cluster of star attributes – I might have added, brilliant photography – in a place as remote (from Edinburgh) and (I imagine) relatively under-populated as Missouri, when the rest of the world can’t seem to manage it.

I’m talking about the Farmgirl.

I am a tremendous fan of the poet and essayist Thomas Lynch. If my lot had been cast in Milford, MI, I would probably have spent years thinking I was the only sensitive person in the parish, only to discover too late that he was there all the time: the local undertaker.

Back to Knitting

Another early VKB turned up on eBay yesterday. I will soon have all the post-war ones. Both of the ones I thought I had bought on Abebooks that time recently, however, remain among the absent.

Strictly speaking (if the numbering was continuous throughout) I already have one of the wartime ones – number 15, autumn 1939. You certainly wouldn’t suspect that anything was going on, to look at it. On the other hand, most of the material would have been ready before September 1, and editorial comment is non-existent, anyway.

It would be wonderful to find even one of the real wartime ones, 16 through 27. And it would be nice to have the early ones, too. This is kind of exciting.

When it all ended, in the late 60’s, I wrote to the then editor, Judy Brittain, asking if I could buy any back issues. I had a nice note back, offering photocopies of any particular patterns I wanted. Photocopying was cutting-edge technology in those days, and expensive. I didn’t take her up on it. It wasn’t what I wanted, anyway. Little did I imagine that eBay would one day unlock the attics of the nation.

Shrug

I’m currently increasing to the full length of the sleeve, for the second front. I may even finish it this evening. Then on to lots of ribbing.

Blogger says that some people are having trouble uploading pictures, others aren’t. When I learned that, I wrote to them; just in order to be counted.

Life

The trouble with dealing with anything at all, is that it can only be done at the cost of neglecting something else. Yesterday I eschewed ironing and hoovering and did some serious catching up with bank statements. I feel the better for it.

A personal best on weight this morning (at least, for the third millennium) – and today, being Sunday, is cider-drinking day!