Cleaning went well, and I feel rather hopeful about the prospect of Getting a Grip. Joanna, for that is her name, blitzed the kitchen for two hours before my husband got up, and then polished off the ironing. She’ll be back on Saturday of next week.
I’m still not feeling quite on top of my game, physically, post norovirus. Or maybe I have just slipped another step down the pathway of inevitable decline. Whatever, we are going to attempt some Art today – the Bellany retrospective at the National Gallery. The first problem will be getting there. I am not sure my husband will want to walk even as far as
Dundas Street, whence a bus would take us
to the door.
I must face up to getting a Disabled badge for the car, as soon as I’ve done the Income Tax.
The other thing we must face up to is opening our own Christmas presents. I know what mine is – the new Alice Munro collection. My husband’s is that Microsoft Surface I was talking about. His grandson Alistair was booked to give him a tutorial in its use on Boxing Day, over there on the shores of Loch Fyne. If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans for tomorrow. I’m not at all sure I feel up to it. He will be irritated by the learning process, and will express himself in terms he would not have used to Alistair.
Knitting, last night, hit a snag which, when I tell you of it, will increase the sense of creeping senility implied in the paragraphs above.
I wound the new skein, attached it, and knit perhaps an inch and a half at the top of the sleeve before I grasped that I was using a ball of madelinetosh Dusty Rose (I think it’s called) – left over from that EZ jacket I recently finished. In tone, if not in colour, it is similar to the Firewood (I think it’s called) which I am using for the Gardening Sweater, and of course on my fingers it felt exactly the same. And light is not all that revealing, this time of year.
I don’t know why the almost-complete ball was lying about – it should have been in the stash cupboard in a bag with the other recent left-over reds.
The moral of the story is my favourite of EZ’s maxims – Look at your knitting.
Once I did that, the mistake was easily rectified. The red came out, the stitches stood up handsomely for reclaiming, the inch and a half has been re-knit with the right yarn.