Barca Viola’s welcome contribution to the Obama campaign yesterday, with my matching funds, gained us our goal – I thought! But look what’s happened! It isn’t Senator Obama’s fault, either. Theo, who owns the thermometer, decided to move the goalposts. Poof, is all I can say. It takes all the running you can do around here to stay in the same place.
Catriona’s granddaughter is beyond beautiful – never mind the Amedro shawl.
A bit of etymological confusion – see Elizabeth’s comment. “Hough” and “haugh” sound so much alike that it would take Professor Higgins to distinguish them in speech. I thought my husband was saying “hough” when he introduced the term on Tuesday night, and started my dictionary session with that word, in case it had other meanings than the one I knew.
I am interested that Elizabeth’s neighbour said that “hough” was the neck of the sheep. I haven’t been back to the dictionary, but I thought it was equivalent to “hock” as in “Just give me a ham hock and a grit of hominy”. (Tom Lehrer) I often buy potted hough from Mr Dorward of Alyth – see previous – which is made from shin of beef. Maybe it means any extremity of an animal.
As to our fire, I finally gave up and phoned the village shop. I didn’t recognise the voice I was speaking to, and she was cautious, country-fashion. First tell me how much you know, and then I’ll decide how much to tell you. I tossed the phrase “in the haugh” into my question, to what effect I’ll never know.
There were some old caravans (trailers) down there, once, I suppose, rented out in the summer. This would be a better story if I had mentioned them previously. I did think of them. My informant said that they were burned deliberately, and that the village fire engine was standing by. Why such an ungodly hour was selected for the operation, wasn’t specified. I will continue to ask questions.
Helen had a look at yesterday’s blog entry, and is delighted with the socks. They are just off to spend a fortnight on Pelion for the Easter holiday. And Annie Modesitt seems to suggest that it’s Passover time in Minnesota. The Western church seems to have been out of step with everybody this year.
Still nothing from Web of Wool, but the new Yarn Yard sock club yarn arrived yesterday, dark and manly. Wow! So that’s what Thomas-the-Elder’s socks will be made of. I have cast on a pair for his mother Rachel – Thomas will be next – from a Yarn Yard offering of last summer. They’re coming on nicely, and should reach the first heel today. The colouring is beautiful, and rather subtle, and I think they’ll photograph better once the heel is done. So for once I can enjoy the new sock club yarn without feeling guilty.