Dreary, dreary day. Dark as November. Today is the day of our scheduled yarn crawl, and it couldn’t come at a better time.
The target shop is good enough that it’s just possible they’ll have the spring Knitter’s. If I can look through it for a moment, I’ll know for sure whether I’ve seen it before or not.
The computer has done something funny: half-an-hour ago, less, I read a comment asking what “long-nebbed” (or “nebbit”) means. I think from the context it must mean “long-eared” – the subject was guess-what familiar garden pest – but I don’t know the word either, and our Scots dictionary lives in Kirkmichael. I’ll try to remember to look it up when we’re next there.
But where is the comment? Who wrote it? I couldn’t have imagined something so specific.
Last night’s melon-knitting went well. I think I might get around the fourth corner and finish the whole thing this evening. There’s more waste yarn to unpick, when I get to the point where the edging began, but not very much of it.
Then Sam’s remaining ear, and his horns, and then…
I read in the paper the other day that sheep have tags in their left ears, any colour but red. I will have a cautious look when we are next in the company of sheep, and consider whether Sam needs one.
The day is too grey, and my mood too low, to attempt more. I did write to an editor of Knitting yesterday, to suggest that they pursue the question of who knits for Prince Charles (no reply as yet), and am grateful for the other suggestions.