Rarely if ever can an non-knit topic have been brought so neatly around to knitting:
It is undated and unpriced – the latter information would have let us know whether it was before or after decimalization. I think late '60’s, though, rather than early '70’s. Note the cigarette. I never knit the pattern. And I am quietly proud of the fact that it took me considerably less than five minutes to dig it out of the cupboard yesterday.
I never saw nor was even aware of Mr Campion on television. Davison would be a perfect choice. I think there was once an attempt to cast Richard Briars as Lord Peter Wimsey – that would be a disaster. Briars can do the upper-class silly-ass aspect, but not highly-bred-as-a-racehorse nor the steel-trap mind.
Since I’ve started with literature, I might as well go straight on to today’s Kindle news, which isn’t good. Jan sent me an item from PC Magazine explaining why it isn’t available over here. Firstly, because it uses a Sprint modem which is only compatible with the US network, and secondly, because all the contracts with publishers would have to be renegotiated.
A firm with the clout of Amazon could get over the second hurdle, I am sure. The majority of books in English are published both in the US and in Britain, which gets things off to a good start, and in these hard times publishers would be only too delighted to have a new revenue stream. But the modem is bad news, and strongly implies that if I got one in the States I wouldn’t be able to call down reading material from the ether over here.
Still, I have great faith in eCommerce, as I’ve mentioned before. And we’ve still got five months.
I am knitting row 43 of 46 – I could finish the 10th repeat today! Pic tomorrow, if so.
I spotted a fairly horrendous hole in the border yesterday, presumably one of the ones which prompted me to keep the Princess in the freezer during the months of inaction. I think it has to be moth rather than the lace-knitter’s other nightmare, the escaped stitch from a double decrease, because I can see yarn-ends. I’d better pin it out on a cushion and deal with it soon.
In an object of this scale, it won’t matter too much, if I can do a reasonably tidy repair. It’ll even add a note of antiquity. But it seemed for a moment an image of all life – the beginning falling into corruption even as the work proceeds. I had a dreadful moment of wondering whether the whole thing was riddled with moth holes, but I shook it out and looked – no, it’s not.