Saturday, June 03, 2006

Old age is slowing us down, and London is getting harder. It’s a whole different place, different climate, unimaginable numbers of people. We’re glad to be back.

That eBay auction for the two VKB’s from the 40’s ends today. Watch this space. More have turned up during the week -- I've already got them, so no more frenetic bidding for the moment, but it's encouraging to have hope that the collection can be extended if I keep at it.

The pattern and yarn for the Paisley Long Shawl from Fiddlesticks Knitting were waiting here on the mat – with nothing more to pay. Choosing a colour from a computer screen is a risky business, but I’ve really struck gold this time. “Mahogany” in JaggerSpun Zephyr wool-silk is as wonderful as it could be, a deep rich glowing plum-y purple.

So, London

We saw a lot of art. Best was the big Constable show at the Tate, or perhaps the little Bellini show at the NG. I bought a postcard at the latter which offers a possible colour scheme for the Fair Isle I hope to attempt soon for Alexander. Blogger has kindly condescended to allow me to post a scanned image.

I didn’t knit very hard on the current travel socks. I’m rather pleased with the way they’re coming out, though. I bought the yarn last year at the big Knitting and Stitching show at the Ally Pally. I didn’t enjoy it, but I wanted to have something to show for my time and anguish – it was expensive, hot, intolerably crowded, minimally interesting. So it's consoling that I like the socks.

On the left, the way they were after our last trip to London, in April (with the previous pair, completed). On the right, this morning.

(Or so I hope, eventually. Blogger seems to have exhausted its efforts for now by allowing the picture above.)

My sister, currently in Africa, will be passing through London at the end of the month. I left her new shawl there for her, stuck behind a packet addressed to her at Rachel’s house -- FROM FRANKLIN. I am consumed by jealousy. She can’t even knit.

These fish live in style in a corner of Rachel’s kitchen. Every one of them entered her life as a prize won by the skill or cunning of a small child at the Strathardle Highland Games, sometime or other.

(Equally, you will have to imagine the fish, for the time being.)

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